#self indulgent fluff

[natalievoncatte]

Cait wouldn’t leave her alone.

Every way Vi turned, she was there, but never more than a moment. Vi would turn sharply and see Cait in her stolen clothes from their first jaunt into the Undercity. The costume that Vi had taken for her was one of a dozen attempts to get rid of the mousy, timid little burden that was getting in her way as she hunted for her sister, for answers, for Silco. For someone made of meat that would bruise and split under her knuckles until she could beat ten years of her life out of them, ten years in hell.

Once she saw her dancing, free, without the grief that weighed her down like a suit of armor and choked the life and joy from her. This was another punishment- to see flashes of the girl she was before Vi’s *bullshit* wrecked her life. So full of life, so devastatingly beautiful, dancing in the dark with her skin aglow, and then she was gone and some shitbag was making over on her and got a broken jaw for his effort.

Cait was there when the world spun from the booze, and when ham sized fists cracked ribs and bruised organs to the point of bursting, when the grain alcohol scoured her throat with hot whips and hard knuckles chipped her skull and scrambled her brains. When her cheek hit the dirt she would come in brief flashes, soft fingers curled lovingly around her chin, huge eyes liquid with grief.

On those nights she made it home -or at least, crawled back to her shithole flip house- she would lie on her side and see Cait’s face filling her vision again, only to slide inevitably into nightmares and dreamscapes made torture by her absence.

She had done everything wrong and Cait was gone.

Most of the times. Sometimes she raged. That Piltie bitch promised she wouldn’t changed but she’d lied, she already had. Vi had given her everything, everything! Her name was shit down here, her family gone, her life gone. She was nothing but a rabid dog mauling other beasts until one day she’d get her throat torn out, just more trash. What had she called them? Animals?

She’d scream her name in a rage as the bottle shattered on the wall and plead for her as she gulped from the next one. Eventually even Loris stopped coming around.

“I’m not going to let you kill yourself, Violet. I’m definitely not going to help.”

“Then fuck off,” Vi snarled.

She didn’t know how long that had been. Down here in the lowest parts of the undercity, day wasn’t much different than night. She crawled back to the pits. She fought. She won, sometimes she lost. With blood knuckles and a feral grin or a busted lip and a feeling of coming apart inside her ribs, she’s take a bag of coins, give a few to the landlord and spend the rest on drink.

It was Cait’s voice she heard in the dark.

You’re not even eating.

“Go fuck yourself, cupcake,” she’d mutter, and some sump rat would stare at her like a madwoman, sometimes run his yap and get a pop in the jaw for it.

Eventually it’d happen. The booze-rot would eat its way to the outside, or something would break inside, or she’d throw hands with someone with a blade or a club and be too tired and drunk and fucked up to fight it and she’d be fucking free.

No more ghosts. The living do not haunt the dead.

She wasn’t sure how she got back here. She wasn’t even sure if she won the last bout. They were all melting together in a stew of pain, the meat within falling to shreds from boiling too long. Vi stared at herself in the cracked mirror, one little Vi surrounded by a dozen little ones, all splitting the same face, drawn and waxy and pale and marred by sooty black. She took a drink of her poison and shook the bottle, hearing the hollow slosh of the dregs, and tossed it, uncaring of it broke or not, if there were enough coins in the black bag to buy another.

Vi fell more than sat on the bed. Gravity did the rest and she fell on her side, wincing at the explosion of pain radiating from her flank. Cracked rib, most likely. She remembered now. She’d been careless, slow, tried to trap an uppercut meant to crack her sternum and kill her and took it in the rib instead. Every breath hurt. It would be easier to just not to, but she couldn’t stop.

Of course she was there. Cait lying in a silken heaven, big liquid eyes drinking Vi’s soul, full of such compassion and love. No one had looked at Vi like that since she was a child, looked past the grime and the scars and the hurt to just see her.

No one but Cait, and Cait left her.

Vi closed her eyes, ready as ever not to open them. When she felt a soft brush of fingers on her cheek she brushed them away. The visions could fuck off, she was tired.

“She’s not waking up,” Cait said, her voice tight with concern, stretching the clipped professional tone she used round her subordinates to its limit.

“She’s hurt badly,” a man said.

“Commander, we have to go. If someone spots you here they’ll tear us apart.”

“Loris, help me carry her.”

The worked carved red lines of pain through her as powerful hands lifted her from the bed.

This was odd. She’d imagined Cait everywhere but she’d always been alone. Why the hell was she hallucinating Loris? Sure, he was a fine drinking buddy and reminded her a little of Vander but he was hardly-

Oh.

Vi forced her eyes open, a struggle with how gummy and dry they were. The big man was carrying her in his arms and Maddie was comically struggling to carry an oversized bag weighed down by Vi’s atlas gauntlets.

Cait.

Cait was there. It was her. It was really her. Vi could feel her fingers probing her broke rib and see her and God she could smell her, Cait smelled like lilacs and how could anything smell so good in this fetid shithole?

“Cupcake?” she rasped.

“What is she, hungry?” Maddie muttered.

“Cait, get your hood up,” said Loris. “Vi, stay quiet. We’ll take the ventilation shafts, stay out of sight.”

Vi obliged the request by passing out.

It felt like hours in the dark. She’d wake, not knowing if she was in the dream world or the real, if these figures were carrying her to Piltover or hell. She would hear Cait’s voice, soft words to steady her and a gentle hand clasping hers when a jolt made her cry out in agony.

It was strangely easy to sleep while someone as carrying you.

When she woke, she knew she had to be in a dream. She’d dreamed this before- opening her eyes and seeing the elaborate silk canopy of Cait’s expansive bed in her palatial bedroom, big enough to build a Zaunite tenement inside. She would sit up, and Call Cait’s name and hear no answer. She’d rise and wander the halls and eventually make her way to the gardens and still no one would reply.

Vi would wander in an empty world forever, a specter with no one to torment.

No, it was different this time. She’d never dreamed of a thin tube connecting a bottle hanging over the bed to a needle taped in place on her arm. He dreams had never had the constricting feeling of bandages around her trunk, or wrapped around a dozen cuts on her arms and legs. In dreams her lips had never been dry, her throat never parched. The dream world traded in other kinds of pain.

She tried to speak but it was like her tongue was sandpaper, so she moved to sit up instead, gasping in agony as pain exploded in her side. She felt like shit, skin clammy with sour sweat, hurting all over and her head was pounding.

“Try not to move,” Cait whispered, suddenly there, a gentle hand pressing her back down. “You’ve a broken rib and internal injuries, and the withdrawal.”

“Caitlyn?” Vi managed to choke out.

Cait gently lifted her head, guided a glass to her lips. The water was ice cold and it was bliss. She closed her eyes and savored it as deeply as a fine wine. Not that she’d had much experience with that.

“Where am I?”

Cait hesitated.

Vi’s eyesight was clearing now as she blinked the gum away. Cait was pale and drawn, dark circles under her eyes from nights without sleep. There was a deep weariness in her eyes that made Vi’s heart ache. She looked for the spark that had always been there, but saw only faint embers, ready to be swept into nothing by the slightest air.

“I brought you home.”

Vi closed her eyes.

“You should have left me where you found me.”

“I shouldn’t have left you at all. I’ll never forgive myself.”

Cait curled her fingers around Vi’s, and squeezed.

“Yeah,” Vi rasped. “I know that feeling.”

[kittencomicslol]

Braids

(Gyutaro x Reader)

————

Through out my days I have heard plenty complaints about my hair being too ‘messy’ just bc of how it ethically is since I’m Latina, and it’s been on my mind. so I decided to write a little fic of Taro helping the reader brush through their hair and then putting it into a braid :3

- no tws! Just fluff :3

“Y’know.. I never thought you of all people would be good with hair..”

You murmured with a small chortle escaping your lips, Gyutaro only sighing in response as he delicately ran his long fingers through your locks.

“Why not?.. I raised my little sister, I know about all sorts of girl stuff like that..”

His words were playful despite the unfortunate circumstances him and his sister had been put in that caused him to learn anyways.. or maybe even if they were safe growing up he would have still learned in order to further his bond with the little girl… you’d like you think that would be true.

Despite not being able to see him from behind, you knew very well he was smiling. Gyutaro loved being able to help out and make you feel comfortable.

“Man.. I can’t even imagine having this much hair on my head.. it’s like it gets fluffier and bigger when I brush it.”

He teased, causing you to only roll your eyes at his little comment. You didn’t mind having him dote on you, and you definitely didn’t mind someone actually enjoying your hair.. you had gotten far to used to people acting as if it was in disarray due to the more curly ethnic texture you were born with. It wasn’t your fault it was frizzy when brushed and constantly curled. It was annoying how often people said it looked ‘messy’ or ‘unkempt’ after you finished brushing or cleaning it.. but Gyutaro didn’t seem to mind. He was gentle and sweet, as he always was with you.

“You should try sleeping with braids in.. I learned from Ume that it helped keep away so many knots and tangle’s..”

He suggested sweetly, wanting to do anything no matter how small to make your life just a little simpler.

“Yea, you’re right.. I guess I just get a little lazy. I never really learned how to make braids.”

Your admission caused your lover to snicker a bit. It was funny, considering how much you enjoyed braids and how helpful they could be you were clueless to making them. Gyutaro snorted slightly, still gently combing through your curls.

“Maybe I can teach you..”

His suggestion melted your heart. How did you get so lucky to have a man like him?.. what a sweetheart. Sure, not many people would refer to him as such but you would.

“Only if you let me braid your hair after you reach me how..”

Your teasing only caused him to scoff slightly, a big grin on his face. You just always needed to find some way to offer some sort of pampering to him, didn’t you? Not like he minded.. he loved that about you. Your gentle and loving demeanor only made him fall further in love with you every time you displayed the want to give him attention he felt he didn’t deserve.

“Damn.. and here I thought since Ume is older I’d be free from getting my hair styled.”

He joked slightly despite the fact he really didn’t mind at all, in fact he was fond of the idea. As much as he refused to admit it, he missed when Ume did such domestic tender things like that with him so often. Sure he was glad she was older and more independent with her own friends.. and of course she still spent quality time with him, she loved him to bits. But she was just more reserved nowadays when it came to sappy stuff like that unless she was trying to make him look nice for an event. That girl always went all out to doll him up even if he would insist against it.

You winced slightly, one of the bristles on the brush getting caught in a thicker tangle that caused your hair to be tugged. Gyutaro instantly felt guilty, letting out a quick apology for hurting you. Not like you minded such a common mistake, it was always bound to happen when brushing through hair.. but it was still endearing to see how much he cared.

“Your hair is so pretty.. just like the rest of you..”

Gyutaro mumbled as he delicately worked through the rest of the knots in your hair delicately, making sure to be gentle with each time he brushed through one with precision.

“You’re such a sweet talker..”

You couldn’t help but tease Gyutaro for how gentle and sweet he always was with you. You were sure he learned a lot of his more attentive and compassionate habits from Ume, and it was so sweet to see how caring he could be. Gyutaro let out a playful scoff at your words, not being able to stop himself from smirking.

“Just treating you how you deserve to be treated, princess.”

His voice sweetly cooed, placing the brush down beside him so he would be capable of carefully wrapping his long bony arms around you and pull you into his lap.

“Hey!”

A giggle escaped your lips, tilting your head back to gaze upon the smug grin plastered across his face. Your reactions to anything he did were always so amusing to him and he adored seeing all of the cute engaging expressions you always made.

“What? You always like it when I do this..”

He teased, giving you a gentle squeeze as he held you close. And his playful banter was correct, you were rather fond of his attention.

Since he had just brushed your hair it was all poofy and frizzy, getting in his face slightly and being puffed out onto his arms. Of course he wasn’t brothers by such a ordinary thing one bit, he loved being close to you regardless of how frizzed your hair was. Even if your lover didn’t mind such a small thing, you still found it slightly obnoxious how your frizzy brushed hair always stuck to everything.

An annoyed huff escaped your lips as you made an effort to use your hands to flatten it back down onto your head.

Despite your attempts, every time you moved your hands away it just poofed back out to where it was before causing you to groan, and for Gyutaro to chuckle.

“Don’t worry so much about it, sweet thing.. I don’t mind it.”

Your boyfriend reassured you with gentle words, moving one hand away from your waist and up to your head in order to gently run his fingers through your curls.

“It looks pretty like this.. or well, all the time.. so you have nothing to worry about..”

Gyutaro mumbled softly, lazily resting his chin atop your head with a goofy smile on his face. After becoming more comfortable with touch, he was absolutely infatuated with being close to you.

In the past the man worried that if you hugged him or got close you would realize how skinny he was and belittle him like others would. But in the end all you ever did was make sure he had eaten well.. you really were a blessing from the gods.

“Thank you, Taro..”

Always so appreciative of his sweet gestures and kind words, you couldn’t help but thank him.. why wouldn’t you? He had done nothing but shown you love and affection, he deserves to be appreciated.

“Any time..”

Even though others might find the raspy nature of his voice to be an annoyance, you found it endearing and charming. It was just one of those little things that made him unique . His voice was recognizable, and even if he would complain about how he disliked it, you couldn’t help but adore how your lover sounded.. maybe it was love blinding you to his flaws or imperfections, but in all honesty you didn’t care.

“So… about those braids..”

A chortle escaped his lips at you subtly prompting him to help you learn how to style your own hair. The little smile that tugged on your lips was enough to melt his heart and make his day feel brighter.

“Of course, of course.. but you’re gonna have to get off of me..”

Not that he wanted you to get off of his lap, because if anything he wished you could just stay there all night. Gyutaro loved feeling you close, the feeling was truly incomparable to any other simple gestures that every day life gave to him. You felt the exact same way even if he didn’t even tell you he was disappointed by the fact. Though, unlike Gyutaro you had no hesitation to express your slight disappointment.

A fake pout left your mouth, a playful over exaggeration to your disappointment of the fact you had to be just a bit further from him in order for him to work his magic. Gyutaro chuckled and let a content sigh slip out from his dry chapped lips as you pouted, watching you move off of him and sit down on the floor in-front of him.

Scooting a bit closer, Gyutaro gently reached out his hands and used the advantage of his long fingers to easily separate your hair into three sections for the braid. The simple action of intertwining the little parts of your hair didn’t seem too hard.. just a bit aggravating at how precise one would have to be.

“I’m surprised you don’t know how to braid your own hair, hah.. I’d assume that you would know..”

Gyutaro mumbled in a teasing manner, delicately moving your hair over and under itself to wrap it into the start of a braid. It wasn’t easy to exactly see what he was doing, but you attempted to try and retain his actions by the little tugs you felt on your head that signified his movement’s.

“Y’know, it doesn’t really seem that hard in all honesty.. maybe I just haven’t learned how too because it’s a hassle and I’m impatient”

Chuckles could be heard behind you as Gyutaro struggled to stifle his snickers of amusement from your statement.

“Huh, so you just need me to do everything for you, eh?..”

His teasing only caused you to giggle, and despite you wanting to mess with him a bit more or playfully jab his arm you kept still. A gut feeling told you that if you began roughhousing while he had a hold of your hair it would end up in yourself getting hurt, and then Gyutaro inevitably feeling guilty because of it.

“Hey! I said I was willing to learn. Besides, I’m not making you slave around, you’re choosing to do my hair.”

Your teasing was only met with a quick witted response that displayed Gyutaro’s amusement

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you, honey’”

He teased while still delicately braiding through your hair, making sure to be gentle with your locks.

“Thank you, honey. Though, this is less of a braiding lesson and more of you playing around with my hair.”

He sighed, knowing you had a good point. If he was actually planning on teaching you he should have gone to the bathroom to use the mirror.. though him postponing the actual teaching was just another excuse to spend more time with you and shower you in his affection.

“Is that a problem?.. would you rather me take it out and start again so you can see?”

Even if his tone was mocking, he was genuinely asking the question. If you wanted him to start over and show you, he a hundred percent would do so in a heartbeat just to make you happy. But luckily for him and all the work he put in so far, you just chuckled and shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m just teasing.. I’d never complain about you doing something so sweet like this..”

There was a slight relief that washed over Gyutaro when you clarified this was fine and he could keep at what he had already started. You could have sworn you even heard him let out a relieved sigh.. it was cute how much dedication he put into you. The mere effort this man put in when just making sure you were comfortable was more than enough to make you fall head over heels in love with him over and over.

Silence filled the room as your lover attempted his best to perfectly braid your hair, or at least in a way he thought was flawless enough to properly display your beautiful. Everything about you was radiant to him, and he hoped he could make you feel as gorgeous as he viewed you.

“Hey (Y/N)?..”

His voice rang out through the quiet atmosphere of your room, instantly catching your attention.

“Mhm?”

You hummed sweetly in response almost instantly, your full attention placed on your lover and his next words.

“Can you pass me your hairband..? I need it to finish up your braid..”

His voice was quiet, almost sheepish as he asked you such a favor. Your heart melted at how flustered Gyutaro got over something as simple as doing your hair. He seemed almost embarrassed; as if he was worried you wouldn’t like the finished product.. but he didn’t have a thing to worry about. Even if it didn’t turn out perfect or it was messy, you could care less. The effort he put into making you happy and doing you such a kind courtesy was more than enough for you.

As you handed back the little hairband Gyutaro couldn’t help but smile.. it had a little bow sewn into it. He thought it fit you perfectly, something so simple yet so cute. He delicately tied your hair at the bottom, completing the braid with a proud smile on his face.

“Thank you hunny..”

The mumbles of praise and thanks you gave him nearly sent a shiver down his spine. How could words so simple sound and feel so comforting? He would never know the answer to such questions but yet, he reveled in it.”

“Do you like it..?”

Were the words he mumbled as he gently moved the braid over to rest on your shoulder and chest so you could see it properly. He felt silly for being nervous over something as ordinary as a braid but the man couldn’t help himself.. even if you constantly reassured him that he was enough for you he never truly felt as if he could be a good partner for someone as perfect as you. The flaws that you had went right over Gyutaros head, blinded to him either by love or his own struggles. He just wanted to be a good boyfriend for you..

Even when braided up your hair was still a bit frizzy, and it always looked bigger after getting brushed out. Gyutaro had done it so neatly.. It really put into perspective how high he held you in his eyes if he put so much effort something as common as doing your hair.

“I love it.. it looks perfect.”

A sigh of relief escaped his lips at the clarification you liked the favor he had done for you. He couldn’t help but crack a small smile, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back into his lap.

“M’ glad you like it..”

He sounded proud he made you happy, what an endearing thing to notice..

“Love you..”

His chin rested atop your head once more as he mumbled those words he spoke so often to you; yet he meant it with sincerity every time.

“I love you too, Taro..”

————

Master list/request rules

I promise I’m working on some requests I just got that dawg(nerodivergent hyperfocus) in me

[frequentlysecondo]

Mia Arancia || Fluff || Primo x gn!Reader

Tl;dr: Sharing fruit as a love language and Primo deserves a break from gardening in the summer.

This is my first time posting writing on tumblr, I apologize if my formatting is a little clumsy <3

In the enchanting nature of the Ministry’s garden, the rows of greenery were bathed in the golden hues of the rapidly approaching end of the day and appeared as otherworldly as ever. Primo could be seen standing in the middle of his growing vegetables, looking reminiscent of a scarecrow as he marveled over what must’ve been long hours of work, remaining motionless as he stood exactly where you had hoped to find him.

Primo simply observed your leisure stroll as you made your way closer and arched an eyebrow curiously. His gaze flickered between your approaching figure and the horizon, questioning the unexpected visit. Nonetheless, the sight of you beckoning him from the other side of the garden with an eager wave only piqued his interest further. Knowing your penchant for mischief and mystery, a smile tugged at his face when you approached.

Drawing closer to Primo, you tilted your head, studying his countenance intently. His voice, though calm and composed, carried a note of playful suspicion.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure?" He inquired with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "You're up to something, aren't you, mio dolcezzo?"

You shook your head, your faux serious expression suddenly shifting into a wide grin. "No, no," you responded, your voice laden with a faux sense of urgency. "This is a matter of very serious business, my dear. C’mere." With a playful flourish, you waggled your fingers and extended a hand in a hopeful invitation.

Once your fingers had interlaced together, the two of you ventured further into the back corners of the garden. Eventually, your steps came to a halt, leading you to a secluded alcove adorned by a magnificent orange tree. Its branches gracefully bowed under the weight of growing fruit imbued with the warm hues of a setting sun. Primo’s eyes sparkled with delight as his gaze swept over the nearly picturesque scene before him, his eyes moving from the lush emerald leaves to your face. A smile played upon his lips as he clasped your hands in his own, your fingers entwined like an unbreakable bond.

“Ah, you’ve led me to the orange tree,” he whispered, a blend of curiosity and surprise clearly evident in his words. A confused chuckle escaped him.

“I had planned on harvesting these in a few days time.” he admitted with a hint of amusement.

Before he could continue, you drew his attention to a particularly low-hanging branch which bent under the weight of a perfectly ripe orange. Excitement brimmed in your voice as you pointed it out, the already wrinkled sleeve of his shirt crumpled further in your fist in attempt to pull his body closer to the branch in question.

“But look! This one is ripe today.”

Leaning over your shoulder, Papa reached up to gracefully pluck the orange from its branch. A glimmer of admiration danced in your eyes as you watched his movements, amazed by the confidence held in the simple swing of his arm as he brought it back down to open his palm in a proposal.

“Are you suggesting we share our first orange of the harvest?” He gently turned the fruit in his hand, inspecting the dip where the gentle curve of a leather peel met the wooden stem. The time spent considering what he had asked was closer to a day dream rather than a debate on your actual answer, artificial hesitation induced by an overactive imagination. After a few moments your distraction was cut short by the feel of firm, pitted rind being pressed into your palm. “We must eat it together, of course," His expression beamed with a sense of pride as he spoke, eagerly presenting you with the literal fruit of his labor as a treasure to be cherished, shared.

“I’ve always thought oranges are best when split with someone else.” It was hard to resist a smile while agreeing and holding the orange up to the light to study it for yourself. Sitting down in the grass under the tree, there’s a comforting wave of tranquility as you lean back against the textured bark before pushing a fingernail against the rough skin of the fruit and slowly beginning to pull it apart. Primo slowly sits down next to you with a soft sigh as his muscles stretch, your shoulders bumping together sending a rush of electricity through your veins even after all the time you’d spent together.

"You know, you're quite good at peeling these things," he mentions quietly as he studies your movements. "How do you do it so effortlessly?" He asks curiously, raising a brow. You laugh in response, the sound twinkling like wind chimes in the light breeze as you held out a slice of the orange to Primo.

“Lots of practice. Oranges are my favorite.”

"Orange peeling is a rather unique skill to practice," The grin that shines on his face could easily beat out the brilliance of the sun when he reaches out to take the section of fruit.

“You can peel it so easily and swiftly," He continues with a hint of admiration in his voice.

“You always make the simplest of things most interesting. Thank you for offering your skills to me, mia arancia." His attempts to butter you up make you laugh, scooting closer to him in order to duck under his arm despite the summer heat that still lingered in the air.

"We'll have to share one each day, sì?" He suggests while biting into the orange slice, the sweet juice dribbling on his chin and smearing along the black lines of his face paint that was already distorted by the sweat of the day.

“I would like that very much. It’ll remind you to take a break, too.” You tease Primo playfully. Despite being retired, he still insists upon spending long days tending to his plants, rare to take a rest without being prompted. The thought of meeting every day for something so small simmered in your mind, the tender domesticity of being near one another for no real reason other than to exist. Together.

“Did you know there’s a lot of poetry about sharing oranges with your loved ones?” You ask suddenly as you pop a slice of the juicy fruit into your mouth and continue to peel the opposite side.

"I didn't know that," he admits. "About the poetry." He pauses for a moment. "What does it say?" He asks quietly while he lays his head atop yours, content to watch your fingers move swiftly to continue separating the sections.

“It’s all symbolic of sharing your life and love in a gentle way. A simple act of service can carry great meaning, you see?”

Pure contentment bubbles in your chest as you feel Papa shift closer to you and the feather light flutter of his lips pressing a kiss against your shoulder is enough to make you wonder if you have ever truly felt this peaceful before. You hold up another piece of the fruit close to his face in offering as you explain further.

“To love someone enough to cherish the mundane. I’ll read you some.”

And so you sat together until long after the horizon imitated the color of the fruit passed between between your hands, repeating lines of prose while sharing an orange or three with the sweet nectar sticky between your fingers and lips.

“[..] They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange, it made me so happy,

As ordinary things often do

Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.

This is peace and contentment. It's new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.

I did all the jobs on my list

And enjoyed them and had some time over.

I love you. I'm glad I exist.”

-The Orange, Wendy Cope, 1992

[bird-slayer-brainrot]

A diner at the end of the universe - DW one shot

Before the fourth war of the Planets of the Tiberius Belt, and before the collapse of the Roplinsky empire, there had been a legend. And this legend was about a diner.

Henry had heard all the rumours. The travelling diner. The old, immortal diner that never seemed to host anyone. Henry knew everything. She knew that, once, the coffee had been really bad, but it was decent now. That if you played a song, the workers let you eat free of charge. That the diner had remained standing, undamaged, in the middle of a war, and when it had ended, they found a camp of refugees waiting for the war to be over.

Henry was eleven years old when she first went to the diner. She had begged and pleaded her Pa to take her since it had arrived. It had taken up residence far side of the park they used to go to play frisbee. Henry had fond memories of the park. The trees were tall, adorned with orange, auburn, ever-falling leaves. There was a story there, that an evil witch had cursed their planet with eternal autumn out of jealously for its brights suns and blue sky. It had meant to scare the children into modesty, but, as it was, young children found a different message in their dying world, that one day, there would be a spring so beautiful it would make the centuries of autumn worth every moment.

Nobody knew why the diner was there, or indeed when it had gotten there. Despite the mystery it was enshrouded in, the diner was rarely visited. This made Henry all the more determined to see it for herself.

When her father swung open the glass diner doors, Henry was immediately hit with a strange sense of familiarity.

Henry hadn’t expected there to be anyone in the diner, but the sight of the empty bar and red, leather seats still seemed strange. Tourists from other planets often frequented the old-Earth themed attractions.

Henry sat on the cool, hard leather and looked at the posters on the wall. Despite its lack of popularity, the diner seemed well kept and neat. The jukebox by the door, a colourful antique thing that probably shouldn’t still work played a soft guitar melody, before a male and female duet began.

The clacking of heels against tile caught her attention. She turned her head and a waitress was there. “Hello there.” the waitress chirped. Henry turned her head and watched as a broad smile graced the lady’s face. “My name is Me, and I will be your server in today. What can I get you?” Her father gave her a lurk, and Henry pointed to the pancakes on the menu. The waitress, giving her Pa a knowing smile, scribbled the order, along with a black coffee and a full English, into a small, discrete notepad.

“Won’t be a minute.” She smiled, before turning away and going to the kitchen.

“So.” Her dad said over a bite of black pudding and egg. “What do you think?”

And Henry smiled at him over half eaten pancakes. When they tried to settle the check, the waitress, Me, insisted it was on the house. They left the diner with their bellies and their hearts full.

Four years later, they came.

It had been on the local news every night for a week, and everyone was terrified, even if they never knew quite why. The diner stood, accompanied by a ship. They all waited to see what would happen.

People had started gathering outside of the diner to see. The crowds grew and grew, and eventually the authorities had gotten involved to crowd manage.

Henry went to the park one afternoon to see. Though it had been years since she had eaten there, she felt strangely protective over the place, like that morning with pancakes and orange juice and her Pa’s bitter coffee had lodged in her a desire to protect the place if she could, in the same way an injured bird attracted human salvation.

It was busier than usual, and it soon became apparent why. Though Henry could not have made her way through the crowds if she fought.  She heard two ladies talking. The sign at the door had switched to closed.

The protest lasted four months. Every day, from morning to dusk people gathered at the edge of the park outside the strange, foreign diner to watch. Waiting, for motion, for the owner of the diner or the owner of the ship to act. Henry was there whenever she could be. Time wore on but the numbers didn’t dwindle.

And then, the next day, the mysterious spaceship had left. Some had said the police had gotten involved, and those who bought it said it was the Silence. But what everyone agreed on was that they were glad to be rid of it.

Then, months later, the diner was gone too. The grass patch where it once was looked unbothered. Like the diner, the strange, old diner, had never been there at all.

It was years later, on the planet Tiberius, when Henry saw the diner again. The new settlement, with its glossy, bright lights and translucent glass contrasted that old diner completely. Henry couldn’t believe it when she saw it. She hardly slept that night. She went the next day.

It was the same as it was before, unchanged. Henry stepped hesitantly through the front door. It was overwhelming, and the same sugary syrup smell of the air stopped her in her tracks.

A door swung open and Henry stared. The woman, black hair done in vintage roles, wearing the same blue waitress uniform smiled at her. Henry watched herself from afar as her legs took her to the booth that she had sat at all that time ago.

“Henry, wasn’t it?” the waitress asked. Her voice sounded the same. “You seem well.”

“Yes.” Henry nodded. Me, that’s what her name was, the namebadge was the same. “I’m well.”

Two cups of black coffee in mismatched mugs were poared. Henry clutched the warm ceramic but didn’t drink.

“You must have a lot of questions.” Me said, smirking. It felt impossible that she looked so relaxed. So young. Henry was barely twelve when she last saw her.

A voice sounded suddenly from behind the door, and Henry watched as Me turned her head and yelled something back. Suddenly, another waitress emerged. In one hand, she held a plate loaded with pacakes, whipped cream and syrup, and in the other, a jug or orange juice.

“Hello Henry.” She said, stopping aside Me. Henry looked down at the stack of pancakes in front of her. Unable to say a thing, she picked up a fork and took a bite.

They were exactly as she remembered.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions.” The woman said softly, a small smile on her face. Across from her, Me made a noise.

“Let her eat first.” Me scolded gently. Henry watched as Me looked at the other woman fondly. The other woman, in turn, slipped beside Me, and quickly plucked a cherry off Henry’s plate. Before Henry could say anything, the woman laughed a, bright, kind sound, and twiddled the stem between her fingers. Me frowned at her without menace.

“You’ve been waiting for us.” It was then that Henry noticed her name badge. The name was also familiar. She had never met this woman in her life, but the inevitability in which this encounter felt steeped in was not at the back of Henry’s mind.

“Now.” She smiled at Henry. “Do you want to hear a story?”

[graylinesspam]

"not gone simply marching far away"

[kashi-prompts]

Flowers for a Shinobi

Chapter 18: Desert Flowers

Word Count: 3.8K

Pairing: Kakashi x OFC

Previous Chapter ❀ Archive of Our Own Link ❀

A/N: I have thought of nothing other than this chapter for the last 2 weeks of my life. I hope you like it. More soon.

❀❀❀

"Ayame," a voice called to her from the window. Startled, Ayame looked up from her book to see Kakashi balancing himself on the windowsill of her hospital room.

"Goodness, you startled me," she breathed, rubbing her chest and smiling awkwardly. Even so, she felt heat prick at the back of her ears, a giddy feeling rousing her senses at the sight of him suddenly appearing.

"Sorry," Kakashi chuckled, sliding down from the window and walking over to her. "I came to see how you were feeling."

"The same as yesterday," she replied, the corner of her lips falling slightly at her own words. An awkward pause filled the room at the hanging memory of the last time they interacted. He looked different today, somehow. Not only was his Jonin jacket missing, but the air around him seemed lighter as well.

He looked down at the book in her hands as her fingers nervously fiddled with the pages.

"How do you like it so far?"

"It's good," she smiled at him, her thumb holding her page. Was it the best book she had ever read? No. Did it keep her occupied? Yes.

Kakashi nodded, smiling softly to himself as his eye slid down the wool blanket across her legs. She traced his gaze, realizing he was looking at the blanket he had covertly lent her on their journey here.

"Oh. Would you like your blanket back?" she asked, glancing up at him, "it was in my bag you brought me the other day."

Kakashi looked up quickly, an embarrassed smile hiding behind his mask as he scratched the back of his neck, "no, no. You keep it. I'm glad you were able to get a change of clothes."

She felt a blush creep up her cheeks as she looked away. It was the first time he had acknowledged that he had been the one to cover her that night in the forest.

"Thank you," she looked back down slowly, closing the book and replacing it on the nightstand beside her. Her hands returned to the comfort of the wool, weaving her fingers between its soft fabric. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest, thankful they had detached her from her heart rate machine and IV that morning. She felt like such a child; every move he made seemed to suddenly heat her body by three degrees.

"So," she began after a few moments of silence, watching Kakashi stare at the oxygen monitor behind her, his hands in his pockets. He lifted his eyebrow expectantly, looking back over at her.

"What are you really doing here?" Ayame asked, feeling bold. "Are you traveling back to Konoha tomorrow?"

Kakashi shook his head, assessing the dust on the light above her bed with his index finger, "no, not anytime soon. And not without you."

Again, her heart twitched in her chest, but she ignored it.

"Then why are you here so late?"

He paused, looking over at the impish smile she hadn't seen since summer, "between shifts is the best time to get out of here when no one is looking."

Ayame chuckled, clearly not picking up on his humor, "will I just walk out the front door?"

Kakashi paused, looking down at her bemused expression. Finally, he lifted his hand from his pocket, holding it out in front of her, "no, I have a better idea."

Ayame's playful expression fell, her uncertain eyes flickering between his gaze and poised hand. Behind his mask, she could see the shadow of an encouraging smile looking down at her. Again, another wave of heat rolled across her body, thinking of the previous day's encounter.

Slowly, she lifted a hand and placed it in his, allowing him to support her as she slid out of bed. The feeling of his worn fingers against her palm twisted her stomach. Slipping her feet into a pair of slippers, she felt him gently let go, ensuring she was steadied as the pads of his fingers slid from hers.

Ayame looked up at him, feeling a mingle of uncertainty and excitement swelling to the surface. He stood there for a moment, a single onyx eye jumping between two olive-colored irises. She felt herself wanting to shy away; something in his gaze seemed different - a more sober and unwavering stare as her cheeks flushed.

"I'm glad you can stand up today," he told her quietly, "you're getting your strength back."

Ayame nodded, unable to find any words to reply. Finally, he looked away, turning back towards the window and looking either way beyond the sill.

"Are we really going somewhere?" she asked, watching the muscles in his forearm flex as he leaned against the window's ledge.

"You'll see," he looked back, knees bending slightly, "but you're not strong enough yet. Let me carry you."

Her face turned crimson, shaking her head as she laughed nervously, waving a dismissive hand, "Kakashi - please, I'm fine. I don't have to go anywhere."

"It'll be worth it," he smiled, "I know what it's like to be locked up in a hospital room for weeks. Some fresh air will do you good."

Ayame hesitated, biting her lip as he looked back at her again, waiting. It wasn't as though they hadn't been this close together before. On the contrary, they had fought at close proximity all summer in hand-to-hand combat, not to mention their kiss on the same training field, but this was different. Exhaling, she stepped forward, locking her hands around his neck as he requested. The heat from his back as she pressed her chest against it was overwhelming, sweat prickling at her skin as she felt his hand reach for the back of her knees.

Yelping quietly, she gripped the collar of his shirt tightly as he hitched her knees to his hips. She was grateful she had changed into long pants rather than the hospital gown she had had on the previous day. A girlish, uncomfortable laugh fell from her lips unexpectedly, burying her face between her arms as he lifted them both through the window. She could smell fresh detergent on his clothes, the scent of his clean skin beneath it mingling in her nose as she held on.

"Wait -" she looked up, turning back into her room as he walked over to the hospital's room, "what about-?"

"Don't worry, I'll get you back before the midnight rounds," he replied assuredly. Under the glow of the rooms behind them, she could see the different hues of grey and silver that made up his hair. As the lights grew dimmer the further away they moved, it quickly became apparent just how dark the Sand village was from the rooftops, even with the glow of the main drag illuminating below them.

"Ready?" He looked to her over his shoulder, waiting for her consent. She pressed her lips in an uneasy smile, nodding slightly as she gripped his shirt again. In one swift motion, he launched the pair from the hospital's rooftop, skidding across residential flats as they made their way toward the edge of the village.

Behind her, she could feel her hair bustling in the wind, the night's fresh air filling her lungs. Her grip on his shirt loosened, her palm flattening out on his chest as it expanded with each breath. She could feel how thin the fabric was, her fingers brushing over what felt like dog tags hanging from his collar.

She nestled her head on his shoulder, looking up beyond the rooftops toward the desert biome around them. His hair tickled her nose, and she pulled away, looking up at the sky above and relishing its beauty. At that moment, she was alive. There was no poison, no threat, and no injuries. Just this.

A few rooftops later, she felt his boots skid to a stop at the edge of a building and looked up over his shoulder again. Before them was a steep, desert land formation jutting out from the sand below. It was one of the many that surrounded the village's perimeter. Kakashi looked down at the distance from the rooftop to the ground, assessing it before looking back up.

"Kakashi," Ayame warned, her hand curling his shirt in her fist.

"You don't trust me?" He looked back at her, another impish smile behind his mask. Ayame snorted, looking up at the feat before them.

"I do - but -" A yelp fell from her lips, feeling him grab her wrists as he lunged from the building. Squealing behind him, she buried his face in his back, a grunt coming from him as he landed on the ledge of the desert structure.

"Try to hold on to me tighter," he advised, their bodies suddenly perpendicular to the ground. Without looking up, she clung to his body, hooking her ankles together at his waist. His modest grunts filled her ears as he cautiously lifted the pair up the incline.

She gasped behind him, feeling them slide backward as a rock he had grabbed on to tumbled down against the structure.

"I'm not going to let you fall," he reassured her, feeling her forearm clench his neck.

Quickly, he recovered, the feeling of his chest rising against her fist clearly indicating how strenuous this was.

Finally, she felt him lift the pair above a landing, pulling himself up with Ayame clinging to him.

"Alright, you can get off now," she heard, her fist unfurling from his shirt at the feeling of steady land beneath them.

"Are you sure?" she laughed uneasily. He chuckled in response, patting her wrists that held against his collarbone. Carefully, she peeled herself off of him, the thin fabric of her slipper feeling the rocky land beneath her feet.

Her gaze fastened to the sky above as she came out from around him. A cool breeze slid across the land, sweeping sand at her feet as her lips parted slightly at the marvel of the constellations above. As far as the eye could see, stars and planets twinkled against the inky backdrop of the night sky. A watercolor of purples and blue hues painted the sky, constellations shining against the dark night, begging to be seen. A star gazers paradise.

"I've never seen the stars so clearly before," she managed, her chest tight in awe at the scale of just how small she felt at that moment. She could see every twinkle of light before them, far beyond the desert basin of the Wind.

"This is beautiful," she shook her head in disbelief, looking over at him for the first time. His eyes had been on her, watching her take in the scenery. She smiled softly at him, feeling herself blush as he looked away back up at the sky.

"It is," he agreed, "it's the best place to see them."

"You've been here before?" She asked, knowing the obvious answer. The premeditated idea to bring her here cinched at her chest.

"When I can. I found it when I was in the ANBU," he replied, his hands deep in his pockets. Listening to his words, she slowly lowered herself to the rocky ground, pulling her knees to her chest as she looked back up at the sky. Glancing down at her, he sat beside her with a bent knee, the pair watching the stars twinkling beyond the desert tundra.

"How long were you in the ANBU?" she questioned, looking over to him. There was suddenly so much she didn't know about him. Although there wasn't much she knew about the secrecies of the ANBU Black Ops within the village, she knew enough to infer the kind of life that must have been.

"For much of my youth. I joined when I was thirteen," he told her, his eye swiveling over each star cluster.

"That seems like a lot to handle at such a young age," Ayame offered solemnly. Her eyes looked to his wrist that hung over his knee, his thumb picking at the skin of his middle finger.

"It was," he agreed, "but so is everything else that comes with being a shinobi."

Ayame nodded, looking away, "What made you join?"

"You have to be chosen. My sensei appointed me," Kakashi answered, pausing for a moment, "after I lost my teammates."

"Both of them?" Ayame looked over, perplexed by his words.

Kakashi turned to look at her, his eye meeting hers as he thought of a response. But something intrigued her about the look in his eyes, the somber expression that danced across his partially hidden features. She wondered if she had gone too far, asking far too personal of a question.

"I'm sorry," she told him quickly, looking back up at the night sky, "you don't have to tell me."

"Don't apologize," he replied to her, "I don't usually talk about it to many people."

She glanced back over at him, the hazy moonlight illuminating his profile in a way that twisted a knot in her stomach. She looked away, expecting it to be the end of the conversation.

"Rin was 15 when she died," she heard him reveal suddenly, her head swiveling back to him, "she sacrificed herself for the village."

"Oh, that is so tragic," Ayame frowned genuinely, saddened by his words.

Another pause, "She - walked into my attack meant for the enemy."

Ayame's eyes softened, compassion and grief overcoming her as she searched his profile. His eyes remained fixed on the night sky above, his thumb still nervously picking at the skin of his finger. She thought of what that must have felt like to experience.

"I'm sorry that happened," she replied gently, her gaze soft and tone understanding, "that must have been hard for you. Both in the moment and afterward."

Kakashi nodded soberly, "It was. It haunted me for a lot of years. It was like a grief that I couldn't get away from."

Ayame nodded as well, looking down at her own hands, a like-minded feeling tugging at her memories.

"And Obito was 14," he continued morosely, "He saved my life."

"That was very brave of him," Ayame commented quietly. He nodded his head, his mind on a previous plain of existence. A few beats passed, and she wondered if she should say more. But something told her that he was okay with the quiet.

Beside her, she heard him move, watching him lift his headband from his head, his hair falling over his forehead as he looked over at Ayame. He placed it between them besides a bushel of desert flowers. Ayame looked down at the headband as her eyes skimmed over to the desert flowers between them. The cluster of tiny white blooms caught her eye, picking one from the ground.

"I owe him my life," Kakashi told her suddenly, watching her fingers twirl the flower between them, "and for gifting me this eye."

Ayame looked up, a cool chill running up her spine as her gaze met his, the red glow of an ominous eye staring back at her. Initially, it may have seemed menacing, but as a quiet smile lifted his cheekbones, she felt her heart twitch again. Everything he did made her feel the same way.

"It sounds like he was a good friend to you," she told him after a moment's reflection, her words genuine as she considered his tale. She watched him nod, his eyes still watching the flower spin between her fingers.

"You know," he began suddenly, looking away at the night sky. "I always admired desert flowers the most. They're resilient little things. Adapting and growing in such an infertile, barren environment."

Ayame twirled the flower between her fingers, considering his words. She glanced at him, tilting her head as something clicked in her mind. At that moment, something seemed to change within her. A revelation tethering her to the plane of reality where it was just the two of them.

Hesitantly, she lifted the flower and carefully slid it behind his ear as he turned his head, captivated by her action.

"Just like you," she told him softly, tucking the perennial beneath his hair. She watched his eyebrows lift slightly, his expression tender in a fragile, vulnerable way she had never quite seen before. She lifted her lips in a delicate smile, their gazes knotted together as some unexplained force drew them closer - a catalyst bound for one another since the first day they met.

Ayame's smile fell, lips parting slightly as she felt his hand touch her jaw, tenderly cupping in his palm. Her breath hitched in her throat, feeling the callous on his thumb skim across her cheek, an unmistakable quiver in his finger against her skin.

It felt as though time stood still for a moment, an intimate exchange strong enough for the earth to pause on its axis beneath them, or at least that was how it seemed to her. She lifted a hand, holding on to his forearm as her eyes searched his face, desperate for him to not let go.

His chin tilted, and his mouth suddenly hovered over hers, hesitating as his finger slid against her cheek. Her eyes grew wide as his mismatched gaze looked into hers, the tickle of a shaky exhale warming her lips. Her heart pounded in her chest, heat rising up her spine as she felt the fabric of his nose nudge against her skin.

Her lips parted, suspended with a question as he took the opportunity to press his mouth to hers. Her entire body flushed, fingers tightening at his arm as though it were the only solid thing that kept her anchored to the swaying world.

For a moment, her body was immobile, her mind racing to catch up to what her body was experiencing. His lips held softly against hers, the piney natural scent of his skin tickling her nose, overwhelming her senses in a way she couldn't quite comprehend. After several thunderous heartbeats, she kissed him back, brushing her lips over the fabric that covered his mouth. He exhaled against her, a fragile groan muffled in his throat as his muscles came undone under her grip. Months of tension melting under the humid desert night.

His hand slid to the nape of her neck, his clothed lips moving so incredibly gently over hers, it made her delirious. She slid her arms around his neck, hands shaking as she pulled him toward the ground.

They broke away for a moment, labored breaths mingling as he cradled her head down to the sandy terrain. His lips peppered kisses at the corner of her lips, the hammering of his heart against her chest as she pressed him closer. The flower she had perched behind his ear slid to the ground beside them, landing in the dusty terrain as he lifted himself to look down at her, noses barely touching.

"Are you going to pretend this didn't happen again?" she whispered to him, holding his face as his eyes danced between hers.

Kakashi smiled softly at her. His gaze fixed on hers as he lifted his hand to her neck. Her pulse beat wildly against his palm, erratic and uncontrollable under the gaze of his dark, somber eyes. They were stripped of their usual calm, aloof distance beneath those thin black lashes, replaced only with a tenderness she never expected to be on the receiving end of.

"Only fools make the same mistake twice."

Ayame's parted lips exhaled at his words, her fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. She closed her eyes, expecting to feel him kiss her again as he pressed his forehead to hers. Instead, she was met with the electrifying feeling of his bare nose nuzzling at the side of hers. Her fingers gripped his hair gently as his soft lips fell sleepily to hers, pressing softly as a gentle hum escaped him.

Her mind went blank, lost in a bubble of time and space at the feel of his naked lips to hers, quiet desperation behind his kisses. Her fingers slid through his hair, the thick locks tangling between her fingers as she pulled him closer. All of the longing stored up in her overflowed, the gentle pressure of his mouth on hers as he deepened their kiss, causing her to lose all sense of reality. She returned his kiss fervently, feeling his tongue slide against her bottom lip. She breathed deeply against him, expelling the air from her lungs as though she had been holding it for months, only now allowing herself to let it go.

Every nerve ending in her body stood on edge, electrified and heated. She pulled away, turning her head and feeling his lips chase hers, his mouth pressing against her jaw and the corners of her lips, leaving soft, tender kisses in their wake. She lifted a hand to his face, wanting desperately to see it again since that day in her family's cache. He lifted his head, staring down at her through heavy breaths, his face flush and lips swollen just as she was sure hers were.

Ayame let out a shaky breath, holding the smooth skin of his jaw in her hand. He had clearly shaved recently. He was more handsome than she remembered, a coil in her stomach winding tighter at the sight of him. Her hand slid across his skin, her thumb tracing over the scar on his cheek, feeling the divot it created on his skin. There was nothing she wanted more than this. His eyes looked into hers, that same vulnerable, tender gaze as before.

She smiled warmly at him, her fingers sliding down his neck, feeling the artery pounding at his collar. He smiled in return, a genuine glimpse of something she suspected very few, if any, had seen.

She wanted to say something, to tell him how grateful she was to have him in her life. She wanted him to know all the things she loved about him, the bruises on his soul and the scars on his body. She wanted to utter the phrase that had swelled in her as he stroked her cheek, to whisper it again and again in his ear until the morning hours.

Instead, she reached up, burying her face in his neck as she wrapped her arms around him. The tip of his nose nuzzled at the back of her ear, shaky breaths tickling her skin. Carefully, he pulled them both back up to a sitting position, his arms snaking around her waist as she clung to him. Their legs tangled together, her head resting gently on his shoulder. Above her, she felt his cheek rest at the top of her head, his hand sliding up the ridge of her spine.

Neither said a word; the stars shifted slightly above them in the azure sky, the only indication of the passing time between them. He held her against him as though afraid she would slip away. Her fingers drew circles on his back, feeling his muscles relax under her touch.

"I should get you back," he murmured to her sometime later. His nose traced the shell of her ear, an affectionate gesture that tingled at her skin. She squeezed his shoulders, unwilling to let go.

"Just a little while longer," she whispered.

[yueebby]

𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 – 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

synopsis. period piece, forbidden love

contents. ooc, angst (eventual comfort), yandere emperor!gojo, lovesick!gojo, servant!reader, obsessive behavior (5k words of gojo pining), lowkey unreliable narrator, time skips

notes. inspired by the apothecary diaries and this post. loosely based off of ancient japan (this is basically its own world). this is the prologue to the series where everything can generally be read as a standalone ! (fic under the cut)

series masterlist | next

emperor!gojo who broke a hundred year tradition to take you as his only lover. despite your role as a concubine, everyone in the imperial palace knew he was going to make you his empress.

emperor!gojo who had not meant to fall in love with you, but you have managed to somehow charm him. a man that single handedly brought his own clan to power– weak in your hands. hushed whispers around the imperial palace call you a witch, but they never reach your ears. not as long as he is alive.

emperor!gojo shamelessly showering you with love. he pays no mind that it is highly frowned upon, he will have his hands on you every time you are in the same room.

emperor!gojo who is livid when there is an attempt on your life. his usual ocean eyes turned to blue flames like a wild animal. servants and clan elders alike scurry under his gaze. the assailant is taken care of by his own hands. 

emperor!gojo who is forced to satiate the clan elders into submission by taking in another concubine from an influential clan. he insists to you that it is no more than a political formality. who are you to meddle into imperial affairs?

emperor!gojo who can’t help himself and ends up falling for another girl who his clan elders demand he must wed. she is much younger than you, beautiful and is well bred; a perfect match for the emperor. 

emperor!gojo whose frequent visits to you come to an end, forcing you to move from his chambers and back to the consorts’ pavilion.

There was a time when you had everything. A place to call home in the Inner Court, a beautiful palace with anything you could have ever dreamed of. Servants, admirers, riches; you had it all. But what was most dear to you was your lover– a man so divine, many thought he was directly blessed by the hand of God. It was too good to be true. A woman of lowly birth like you, paid as homage for the sins of her clan against the new reigning family of Japan, becoming a concubine of the Heavenly Emperor. 

You remembered it all too well.

His brilliant mind that once strategized the downfall of the previous imperial family, calculating its next move in a game of Go against you. You can still remember the shock on his face upon his first defeat. The way he would keep you from leaving to fulfill your other duties until he was satisfied, eyebrows furrowing as he struggled to keep up with you. No matter how hard he tried, you remained victorious. It drove him mad.

You remembered the stolen kisses while you made your rounds in the Inner Palace with your ladies in waiting. It took you quite a while to learn to tune out their giggles every time the Emperor dips you down to taste your lips in broad daylight. The grin that he wore after was enough to leave your legs weak.

Above all, you'll always remember how safe you felt in his strong, reassuring embrace. You’ve seen him train, and it was no wonder the Gojo clan rose to power so quickly as a result of one man. The way he wields the katana is unlike any man on the face of the earth. Those arms were your sanctuary. You can still vividly recall the attempt on your life, orchestrated by a traditionalist incensed by the Gojo clan's swift ascent to power. The emperor, outraged by the assassination plot, personally saw to the man's execution. 

However, the damage was done and it caused great strain in the Imperial Palace.

To appease the old geezers that were forced out of power, Emperor Gojo had taken in another concubine from one of the Big Three families of Japan— a beautiful Zenin girl. Her flowing, silky hair and saccharine voice enchanted everyone in the Inner Palace, captivating the Emperor, most of all. She was younger than you, with perkier breasts and soft skin that was enough to capture the attention of any man. 

You don’t blame her for taking the Emperor’s attention away. Though you would be a liar if you said it did not hurt you. Deep down, you cannot deny the agony that sears your soul, realizing that the only semblance of love you've ever tasted remains unrequited. With a heavy heart, you resign yourself to the bitter truth of your existence, knowing all too well the cruel confines of your place in this world.

You were merely a pawn, and the Emperor did not want you anymore.

That was made clear months later when you received a scroll from the Emperor’s advisor, a man you were once well acquainted with, Geto Suguru. 

“What is this?” You asked him quietly, your heart silently begging the Heavens it was not what you had suspected it to be. The black haired man in front of you does not respond, and you feel something pierce into your heart. Despite being a part of the Emperor’s court, it was rare that you received letters directly.

Your suspicions were confirmed when your shaky hands finally opened the scroll to read the familiar kanji written by your beloved.

“The Emperor decrees the termination of your role as concubine." Geto spares you the trouble of deciphering the characters neatly written in ink. “In his mercy, you are to be moved as a servant in the Outer Court. You are to serve the Imperial Physician.”

What you remember most was the silence. The Emperor’s silence after the stressful months you had to endure alone. The silence shared between you and Geto when you were forced out of the Imperial Court. All that was left was the sound of your heart breaking and the wood creaking underneath Geto’s feet as he walked away. Satoru never bothered to see you off.

Seasons change and by the next spring, you’re busying your hands with collecting herbs for the Imperial Physician, a man by the name of Yaga Masamichi. He is a kind man, pitying you enough to fill your days with laborious tasks to prevent your mind from wandering to thoughts of the unfortunate turn your life has taken. He is even generous enough to supply you with a new wardrobe of clothing full of light fabrics, a luxury you thought you would lose in the Outer Palace. Though the initial humiliation has worn off with the passing of time, you are still constantly reminded of your fall from grace.

Looks by the mix of condolences and disgust are shared when you roam the walls of the Outer Palace. You hear whispers of how the Emperor is infatuated with his newer, shinier toy. It is enough for you to swallow the bile that makes its way up your throat. 

“It is no wonder the Emperor tossed away a wildflower like her in exchange for a cherry blossom. He needed someone to rival his own greatness.” A particular comment stopped you in your tracks. Your grip tightens on the woven basket in your hand filled with medicinal herbs you had collected earlier that morning. 

“Have some pity on her.” Another eunuch whispers. Your breath falters, but you continue your walk with your head held up. You’ve heard the rumors. The beautiful Zenin Himiko has charmed the Emperor enough that there are rumors of a royal marriage to come. It doesn’t help that the Emperor has remained monogamous to her since he had banished you from his court.

A comforting hand links itself with your arm, “Ignore them. I saw Yaga shooing away a crowd of suitors that were lined up for your hand.” Ieiri Shoko scoffs, secretly sending you a wink. She has been studying medicine under Yaga for nearly a decade, eagerly accepting you as a companion upon your arrival. You feel your cheeks heat up at her flattery. You know she’s just trying to make you feel better.

Although your beauty never faded, it seems as though you are no longer sought after in the marriage market. Not that it matters, considering the new life that you’re living. You’re now a personal servant to the Imperial Physician, leaving no time to worry about suitors and such. Your days are filled with good work— tending to Yaga’s cherished garden that he has sowed for decades rather than frivolous games and attending the Emperor. It may not be glorious compared to your former life, but it was the best a woman of your status could receive. 

When you and Shoko return to Yaga’s estate, you’re surprised to see the somber look that has settled on his aging features. Shoko makes an offhand comment that he will age faster if he keeps scowling. She receives a scolding.

“Is something the matter?” You gently place down your basket full of herbs. 

Yaga sighs, calloused hands rolling up a scroll with the Imperial Seal. “It appears the Emperor’s consort has fallen ill and His Majesty commands my presence in the Imperial Palace.” 

The Royal Consort. The woman that dethroned you: Zenin Himiko.

“I understand.” You nod, maintaining your composure while two sets of eyes scrutinize you with keen observation. It was only natural the emperor wanted the best doctor in the country for his object of affection. “Shall I close up the shop while you journey into the Inner Palace?” 

Yaga shakes his head, “That won’t be necessary. I will have Shoko act as my stand-in.” He remarks with a quick glance in her direction “You, on the other hand, will accompany me.” 

Your eyes widen. 

“You cannot be serious.”

“Typically, one of my apprentices would accompany me on such journeys. However, now that I have acquired a personal attendant,” He gestures towards you with a flick of his hand, “It shall no longer be necessary.” As he speaks, he runs his hand absentmindedly through his well trimmed beard, gaging your reaction.

"I—" Your words falter and fade away. "Yes, sir," you respond, inclining your head in deference, a stark reminder of your place. While you may have concealed it, you were seething with humiliation. Returning to the Imperial Palace after a year of exile to serve the woman who took your spot was mortifying beyond measure.

“Very well. Pack enough for one week’s time. I doubt the Emperor would have called me if this was a light ailment.” He says gruffly. “We leave at dawn.” His gaze shifted to the horizon outside.

1 YEAR AGO

“Your Grace,” You purr at the feeling of his large hands scratching your head. 

The smile that rests on his face is almost ravenous. “Yes, my love?”

“I think—“ A soft sigh escapes your lips when he presses on your weak points. “I should g-go.”

His ministrations stop almost immediately. 

“Go?” His eyes peer down at you in his lap. It is now that you realize the weight of his piercing gaze. “Have I commanded you to leave yet?”

“No, but—”

“Then you have nowhere else to be.” He huffs, unintentionally puffing his cheeks out. You stifle the giggle that nearly escapes from your lips. He vaguely resembles a pufferfish– or so you think. Though you’ve never seen the round creature with your very own eyes, you’ve heard that the delicacy was something only members of the aristocratic class would feast on. 

Your mouth waters at the thought.

“What are you thinking about that could possibly be so important? Keep your eyes on me,” A strong hand squishes your cheeks together and firmly guides your face back upon him. 

You should be embarrassed; ashamed at the intimate position His Majesty has trapped you in. The way your head is tucked away in his lap as he peers down at you, nothing to shield you away from him. It was incredibly scandalous, considering that you were an unmarried woman! But it seemed like the Emperor had taken no mind towards it. You would even dare to say that he was enjoying it, with the way his lips quirk upward at the sight of you squirming. 

“Your Grace,” You repeat, determined to free yourself from his hold. His eyebrows furrow.

“Satoru,” He reminds you. You purse your lips. The position you hold in his court is simply not high enough to grant you the privilege of calling him by his given name.

“Your Grace,” You try again, the title rolling off of your tongue naturally. A man like him did not deserve any title less than.

“You’re breaking my heart, sweetheart. Indulge a man, won’t you?” He pouts down at you. As stubborn as ever, you don’t relent.

“I would be overstepping my boundaries as your consort to call you as such. That privilege is reserved for your future bride.” You take advantage of his guard let down to sit up and escape his hold. If he could have caught you, he made no effort.

“I am a simple man.” He follows you to your vanity. A giggle escapes your mouth. He is anything but. “I want my love to call me by my name.” 

You turn around to cup his cheek. He eagerly leans into your touch, sighing happily at the contact.

“I wonder how Lord Kento and Geto would react to you like this.” You tease, a smile unknowingly painting itself on your lips. 

Satoru’s face falls, features morphing into an appalled expression. You watch him close the distance between you through the mirror.

“Kento?” His voice had a dangerous lilt in it. You blink, unsure what spurred on the sudden tension in the room. “Since when were you so comfortable around him? He cannot satisfy you like I can.” He reminds you of the man’s castrated state as an eunuch. You wince.

“I have not gotten comfortable,” You’re careful to pick your words. Gojo’s possessiveness was something that was not easily tamed. “He simply provides good conversation while you are away.The palace is far too big and lonely while you’re away dealing with clan matters.” 

The only response you get is a quiet grumble. “You’re lucky that you’re pretty.” His large hand creeps its way into your hair again, undoing the hairstyle your ladies in waiting had spent a copious amount of time on earlier that morning. Gojo carefully plucks the extravagant silver hairpin from your hair, the dangling pearls clicking softly at the sudden movement.  His hands slowly make their way down to the kimono that you are wearing, hands ready to undo the obi.

Your hands softly hover his, “I fear that our roles have been reversed. Should it not be me who gets you unready, Your Grace?”

He chuckles and through the mirror you can see a smirk make his way to his lips, “I’d let you undress me any day. Just say the word, beloved.” 

You roll your eyes, but allow him to continue. It was moments like these with the Emperor that led you on to believe that there was a semblance of love between the two of you. 

How wrong you were.

PRESENT DAY

The sun has yet to meet the horizon when you arrive at the Inner Palace. The horse-drawn carriage that you and Yaga had taken is the only sound at the scene, clopping down the stone road and back to the Inner Court. You miss the serenity of the beautiful palace you once resided in, knowing that it will be bustling with life in just a few short hours.

In front of the large doors of the primary ceremonial hall where the Emperor spends most of his time, stands Lord Nanami, a counsellor to the Emperor himself. Time has only made his face sterner, but his neatly styled hair and blue and yellow dyed court attire remained the same. He waits patiently while you and Yaga make your way up the flight up stairs that lead up to the hall.

“I am glad to see you in good health, Yaga.” Nanami bows. 

The man next to you promptly waves his politeness off, thanking him for his hospitality. You stand silently while the two men engage in conversation regally.

Lord Nanami sighs, “His Majesty has been plagued by stress lately. To say I am relieved by your presence would be an understatement.” His statement is a subtle reminder that you must harden your heart upon entering the palace walls. The meticulously built walls were no longer a sanctuary for you, rather, a painful testament that you were no longer wanted. 

Yaga lets out a hearty laugh and it reveals a rare sight, Lord Nanami’s lips curving upwards by a slight. “I highly doubt the boy would be glad to see me. The appearance of the Imperial Physician is portentous.” He scratches his beard. You tilt your head in confusion at how he referred to the Emperor.

“I suppose, yet I am intrigued to find out how he will react upon seeing his object of affection flourishing anew despite the sting of frost.” Nanami audibly wonders. Even a fool could understand his eloquent comparison. The Emperor would be thrilled to see his consort in full bloom once again. You pray that the Heavens would grant you some mercy from witnessing such a scene.

“Youth,” Yaga shakes his head, chuckling to himself before regaining composure. “I mustn't keep the Emperor waiting. [Name], please gather the herbal ingredients to treat the young Consort as you seem fit. I shall confer with His Majesty and meet you in her chambers to declare a proper diagnosis.”

You bow, “Yes sir.”

While Yaga prepares to enter the doors where The Heavenly Emperor resides, your eyes couldn’t help but gaze longingly at the large bronze doors. 

“You seem well,” Nanami addresses you for the first time in over a year. Your eyes trail from the Emperor’s door to the blonde man in front of you. “Allow me to guide you to our herbal stock.” Nanami offers you his arm as you start to make your way down the stairs. 

You take it, lightly holding his arm.  “Thank you, Lord Nanami. Time away from the Inner Palace has been like a breath of fresh air,” You respond, ensuring your voice carries no malice. You hear the large palace doors from behind you open, the metal creaking loudly in the quiet dawn. 

“I must ask you to call me Kento,” He leads you down the stone steps. “We are old friends, it is strange to hear anything but.” 

You focus on your steps down the stairs, only responding once your feet meet the solid ground, “I fear that our social statuses have changed since then. It would be the cause of a scandal should anyone hear I am calling the Imperial Counselor by his given name. Your admirers would have my head on a stick.”

“Your imagination is amusing as always, [Name].” He gives you a closed eyes smile. You huff.

“I am only speaking the truth!” You insist. He chuckles.

“It is quite refreshing to see both you and Yaga again. I’m not sure how long it has been since I have been at the imperial physician.” 

You gape at his confession. “You mustn't skip your annual visits to the physician, Kento. It is in the best interest of your health!” You lightly scold him, lifting your hand to flick his forehead. It was a force of habit. “Perhaps if I have time after treating the Consort, I shall do a check up on you.”

Nanami clears his throat at your comment, the twinkle in his eyes dissipating as if your direct touch had burned him. 

“I would rather not lose my head.” He mumbles, eyes scanning the courtyard around the two of you. You knit your eyebrows, confused.

Nanami leaves you to fulfill his duties once you arrive at the Royal Kitchens to retrieve all the necessary items to treat Consort Himiko. You are glad that he did not accompany you into the kitchens to prepare Consort Himiko’s herbal soup. 

The memory of it still irks you.

“You’re late,” One of Consort Himiko’s ladies in waiting snaps just as you enter the kitchen. You look up to see a young girl, dressed in a light purple kimono. It must be Himiko’s signature, you note. It was strange to see someone outside of the Imperial family donning the color, but you suppose it was only a grand display of Himiko’s influence.

“You’re a lot more plain than I anticipated,” The other lady in waiting quirks an eyebrow, eyeing your appearance. You furrow your eyebrows, shocked by their rudeness.Their undying loyalty to their Lady was enough to fuel an unspoken hatred for you. Though you’re not sure that the two coincide, you don’t blame them.

The two are mixing a concoction that you don’t recognize to be used to treat the sick. The taller one adds some aromatics and herbs in and you see the other one unwrap a cloth to reveal a rare delicacy from the West. Cocoa, you believed they called it. 

Then it hits you– the two are not making a medicinal soup for their Lady, rather they are making an aphrodisiac! The image that conjures in your head makes you blanch. Back in the Outer Palace, Shoko had shown you the effects of the stimulant (you shiver at the memory of her shoving a treat laced with it into your mouth). It was certainly a night to remember.

“How pathetic,” You mutter underneath your breath, quickly rushing to obtain the ingredients you needed without making conversation with the two girls.

Fortunately, they pay you no further attention for the time you’re in the kitchen.

“Please excuse me,” You bow upon entering the Emperor’s chambers. Despite the Consort’s Pavilion being similar in size to a small town, you remember spending most of your time in the Emperor’s chambers rather than your own. It was probably the same case with Consort Himiko. You slowly place the tray carrying broth and medicinal herbs to treat the Consort down on the circular wooden table in the middle of the room.

Out of curiosity, your eyes can’t help but soak in the Emperor’s room. Not much has changed since you’ve left. His Majesty’s preference for minimalist decorations have stayed the same, along with his natural musk that fills your nose. You feel your face heat up at your own thoughts. How could you think of such a thing when you are about to meet his new lover?

Your gaze moves to his bed, where Consort Himiko resides– only to find nothing.

“Huh?” 

You observe his bed, silk sheets neatly made, seemingly untouched. The sounds of your sock clad feet patter on the wooden floor as you make your way to feel the bedsheets for any signs of warmth, but you are met with nothing.

“Don’t you know that entering the Emperor’s chambers can be punishable by death?” A deep voice from behind you causes you to jump in your spot. 

Your guard is immediately raised, head whipping to the sound. In hindsight, you should have never agreed to accompany Yaga on his trip. It was a foolish idea all along, you think as all of the air in your lungs dissipates upon seeing your former lover. 

Standing at the entrance of his own sleeping quarters is Gojo Satoru, his frame big enough to tower over the doorway. His arms are crossed over each other, electric blue eyes focused on nothing else but you. You press your thighs together tightly to avoid squirming anymore than you are.  He has loosened his dark blue kimono to expose some of his hardened chest, a sight any woman in the nation would die to catch a glimpse.  Even underneath all of the fabric, anyone can see his divinely sculpted physique.

“Your Grace,” You waste no time to dip your body deeply, praying that he will allow you to keep your head by sunset. “I apologize for the intrusion, I was under the pretense that Consort Himiko resided in your quarters–” Your voice loses itself in your throat when you see his shadow quickly encroaching.

“Himiko stays in her Pavilion,” He towers over you, eyes gazing down on you. “But one might suspect that you already knew that.”

Your eyes frantically meet his feet, desperate to salvage what was left of your dignity, “I assure you that I speak of the truth, Your Majesty.”

When he doesn’t respond, you slowly lift your head.

The flustered look on your face must have been amusing to him, as he makes his way closer to you, bending down to interrogate you further.

“Is that so?” He hums, enjoying every second of cornering you into his chambers. The back of your legs have met his bed, trapping you. You inhale sharply, trying to keep your breaths even, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing the effect he had on you.

He continues, “You’re awfully skittish for someone who was happily skipping around my territory in the arms of another man just earlier.” His predatory gaze seems to darken. 

“Kento?” When his name leaves your lips, the man in front of you grits his teeth. You turn your head to the side, deliberately avoiding him. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, but I don’t see how Kento and I’s relationship is any of your concern,” He does not take your actions well, his gaze searing into you.

“It certainly is when the woman in question is you,” Gojo’s voice loses its feral lilt, distress flashing across his face. There’s a newfound desperation in it that chips away at your resolve. His hand raises to your face so slowly, as if he did not want to startle you.

“This is wrong. I– I saw a couple of servants earlier making aphrodisiacs, perhaps you could have unknowingly consumed them.” You tell him, frantic eyes meeting him. It is not unusual for couples to use aphrodisiacs, you know that after under Yaga. The Emperor must have mistaken the laced dessert for his usual. 

He shakes his head, running a hand through his white hair.

“You are mistaken. This is solely your effect on me.” He promises. You could barely believe his words, stuck between feeling offended or shocked.

“How could you stand to be so cruel?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. There are no tears in your eyes this time.  “I am not a courtesan you can buy for the night,” You snap, pointing a harsh finger to his chest. 

“What do you mean?” He sounds breathless.

“Whatever do I mean?” You scoff, a dry laugh escaping your mouth. “For a year, all I have gotten is pity from the world, because you decided I was no longer entertaining. You could have at least banished me away yourself. Instead, you sent Suguru who couldn’t even look me in the eye! Don’t you know how humiliating that is?” With every word that left your lips, more venom seemed to drip. Anger was prickling you all over, taking control of the rational part of you.

Gojo seemed to be taken aback by your outburst. It was far too late to take anything back now. If you lose your head by nightfall, so be it.

You dig a deeper grave for yourself when you take advantage of his moment of weakness to flee. He’s quick to react, attempting to grip your wrist.

“Wait, [Name], beloved–” He uses that all too familiar term of endearment, but it doesn't deter you.

You accidentally bump into the circular wooden table placed in the middle of the room. What an awful place to keep it, watching in horror as the Consort’s medicine shatters on the floor. To add salt to the wound, a vase you recognize to be specially gifted to the Emperor from a foreign nation tips off too before you can catch it. The sound of porcelain shattering fills the room.

“[Name]! Are you alright?” You hear Gojo ask from behind you, but you run over the broken shards before he can catch you.

Had you bothered to pay closer attention, you would have noticed articles of your clothing and a couple of your missing belongings littered all over the room– creating a faux impression that you never really left the palace.

Days passed by after the incident, and luckily, your head was still attached to your body despite offending and nearly endangering the Emperor. Yaga’s disappointment when you had told him what happened was made evident when he sent you home early after hearing the events that transpired, insisting that he can handle the Consort on his own. Normally you would have argued, but you knew better than to inflict Yaga’s wrath.

“Now you’ve really done it,” Shoko whistles lowly, walking in from the front of Yaga’s shop. 

You hide your face in your hands, “I made an absolute fool of myself, didn’t I?”

“A fool? No. A conspirator against the Emperor? Perhaps.” She dangles a scroll with a familiar seal on it. The Gojo Clan’s familiar emblem reflects off of the sunlight spilling into the room. Your heart drops.

“Oh, they’ll have my head.” You moan, hands instinctively lifting to shield your neck.

“Though I’m quite impressed that Yaga only sent you back here. He used to have worse punishments.” She shudders before impatiently unraveling the scroll. You watch her eyes gradually widen as they read the contents of the letter. The scroll falls from her hand.

You rush to it, desperate to read your fate.

To [Last Name] [First Name],

Greetings and prosperity unto you.

By the mandate of the heavens and the authority vested in Us, We hereby extend Our solemn words to you, [Last Name] [First Name], servant of the realm, in acknowledgement of your debt to the Empire.

In response to your unmeritorious deeds, The Emperor bestows upon you His imperial pardon from capital punishment. In consideration of your obligations and the harmony of the realm, it is hereby decreed that you shall serve as an indentured servant to the Imperial Household for a period commensurate with your debt. During this time, you shall labor faithfully and diligently under the supervision of Our Heavenly Emperor, performing duties essential to the welfare of the Empire.

By fulfilling your obligations with diligence and humility, you may yet earn favor and esteem in Our sight.

The Imperial Court

A loud gasp escapes your mouth.

You feel your legs weaken, your emotions running wild. Shoko’s eyes meet yours, mirroring your frantic gaze. In that moment, you are met with the same suffocating sense of hopelessness.

extra!

gojo was kicking his feet happily as he watched suguru draft out his letter to you. suguru thought it rather cruel, while the white haired male was too busy purring happily as he fantasized about having you back into his grasp.

[moonlightrafe]

⋆₊˚⊹♡

“Who is this gorgeous blonde in the front here?” Sabrina asks as the camera pans directly to Drew, showing him on the big screen on the stage. To no surprise, the crowd erupts into screams— no doubt the loudest screams heard all night.

“Ohhh,” Sabrina drawls seductively, “hey!”

You watch intently as Drew waves at her and you can’t help but blush watching her twirl the pink, fuzzy handcuffs around her delicate finger. The group of girls seated by you two are squealing and giggling loudly. You’re buzzing with excitement and you’re not sure who you’re more jealous of: your boyfriend or Sabrina.

“Well, this is kind of awkward,” she continues, “I’m not really into kooks…”

You didn’t know it was possible, but the sea of screaming girls gets even louder.

“If only there was a beautiful girl from the cut here,” she jokes with a pout, leaving you in awe; you weren’t even aware she watched the show, let alone knew the lingo. That’s when the camera instantly pans to you and Drew takes a step back, pointing at you enthusiastically.

“No way,” Sabrina begins, “there is!”

“What’s your name?” she asks you.

“Me?” You question, feigning innocence, “y/n!”

“Oh my God, my clothes just fell off, y/n! I was thinking about us,” she giggles into the mic while the intro to “Juno” begins to play.

“Will you be my Juno girl, y/n?” she asks as she passes the handcuffs to be given toyou.

You nod your head with enthusiasm as the crowd cheers and the lights begin to dim. Drew is back behind you again, his full weight pressed against you and his breath hot on your skin.

“Whatever position she chooses at the end, we’re doing it.”

You didn’t even know he knew about that. Tonight was full of surprises.

“Drew—” you giggle as he playfully grabs at your waist.

“I’m serious,” he says as his hand moves down to smack and squeeze the swell of you ass.

Best night ever.

[kitkat13001]

thinkin’ bout katsuki bakugou with an s/o who’s a picky eater 😳

it drives him crazy at first to see you pick certain vegetables out of your food, or wrinkle your nose at dishes you weren’t particularly fond of.

in the beginning, he actually tries to beat it out of you, forcing you to clear your plate with an irritated bark every time he saw you pick at your food or scoot your plate away.

it’s not until he sees you gag at the texture of a particular food, at the way your appetite completely vanishes and your eyes gloss over with the hint of tears, that he feels some semblance of commiseration for you.

that spark of sympathy ignites into a protective rage when someone makes an off-handed (but ignorant) comment about how “childish” your eating habits are. your cheeks burned with embarrassment and you had tried to laugh it off, but he knew better. he had wanted to blow their face off, but he knew it’d only serve to embarrass you more.

he’s always cooked for you, but from then on he makes a point of memorizing your favorite dishes to perfection. he studies the way you eat, analyzing your reactions for what you enjoy and what you don’t seem to care for.

he’s not going to give you a reason to be ‘picky,’ refusing to provide people with a motive to make fun of you for ‘babyish’ behavior. you can’t be picky if he’s only feeding you good, healthy, and delicious food.

he’s subtle when he slides new dishes in front of you, calming your questioning expression when he scoffs and tells you to try it, you’ll like it.

and you always do.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

edit: hihi! seeing as this totally blew up (LMAO pun not intended) i wanted to take a sec to say thanks and also to recommend you take a look at my other stuff! i’ve written for several other fandoms like demon slayer, mha (obvi), attack on titan, etc. currently i’m thinking about a mha hunger games au, mentioned here! thanks and love <33

- 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢 !

[sanatomis]

cw. none except satoru being disgustingly cute (part 2)

satoru isn’t used to people calling him anything other than his surname. gojo-san to most, gojo-sensei to others. it’s simple, and gets the job done.

only a handful of people stick to calling him by his given name. to them, he’s satoru. it’s easy, and rolls of the tongue, and he greatly prefers it over the sound of his surname. it makes him feel like an actual person.

satoru never entertained the possibility of being called anything else other than those two names. he didn’t think it would ever happen.

for once, he was glad to be proven wrong.

“tough day, pretty?” you ask gently, and he sighs with a nod as he throws himself into your opened arms. his body moulds easily into yours, and he lets out a heavy groan as he settles onto the couch with you. the groan is loud, and over-exaggerated.

it’s so satoru.

you have to stifle a giggle.

“everything went horribly wrong,” he grumbles, his voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “the higher ups were up my ass again, my students laughed at me again, and when i finally made it to that bakery you liked they were out of your favourite pastries so i couldn’t get them for you—again!”

“oh, my poor baby,” you coo, and gently push his bangs out of his face. he nods in agreement, faking an immense amount of sympathy for himself. “‘s okay, at least you tried, hm? i think that’s very sweet.”

satoru hums, as if he’s deeply thinking about your words. “’m still your baby?” he mumbles, deciding that’s the most important thing right now. his eyes briefly flutter shut, consumed by utter bliss as you play with the hairs on his undercut.

“mhm, still my baby.”

“yeah? what else am i?”

this time you do giggle. he does this sometimes. you aren’t exactly sure why—but on tough days, satoru likes to crawl into your arms and listen to you call him every cheesy nickname under the sun. it’s easily providable and makes him so very happy, so you always indulge him.

“my honey bun.”

“and?”

“my boo bear.”

“mhm.”

“my sweetheart.”

“yes?”

you laugh softly. “my mochi,” you coo, and pinch his cheek. it’s a little squished because he’s laying on your chest, but it emphasises your point.

he grins under your touch. it’s adorable.

“keep them coming, please?” he asks, and you do. you always do, unable to refuse him. especially when he asks so sweetly.

“my sugar cookie.”

“my muffin.”

“my baby cakes.”

“my angel.”

“my love.”

“my husband.”

“h—huh?” satoru stammers, looking up from your chest. he lays his chin on your sternum, baby blue eyes blinking up at you. they’re filled with awe, surprise, and utter glee. “that’s, i’m not. . .”

“just testing the title, baby,” you tell him, and continue playing with his hair. he bathes in your touch and you smile softly as he grabs and kisses the palm of your hand. “what do you think, hm?”

“i think you should call me it again.”

“oh?”

“mhm,” he mumbles.

“my dearest husband.”

“again.”

“my handsome husband.”

“again.”

“my sweet husband.”

“again, please?”

you hum, impressed. “my well-mannered husband.”

satoru chuckles, and lays back down on your chest. his white hair tickles against your skin, and he sighs in content.

“i think i want to be your husband for real.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he mumbles and nuzzles further into your hold. “y’ve got the same ring size still, right?”

“i sure do,” you say, a content smile on your lips as you watch him slowly doze off to sleep.

“hm, good to know.”

for satoru, those nicknames make him feel as if he’s something even greater than a person—it makes him feel yours.

he’s not just gojo, the strongest. he’s not just satoru, the at-times somewhat immature adult with the sweet tooth of a child.

he’s yours. your baby. your honey bun. your boo bear. your mochi. your boyfriend. your love. and for satoru, there’s no greater thing in the world than that.

[d1stalker]

A Peaceful Repose [Logan Howlett]

Summary: After some time away on a mission, Logan comes home, and all he wants to do is be around you

Warnings: clingy logan, showering together, sooo much fluff WC: 1.6k - MASTERLIST

----

The door of your apartment slowly creaks open, followed by the sound of a familiar, heavy tread against the wooden floor. Your heart skips a beat, in both relief and excitement—Logan’s back. 

But as he steps into the room, the sight of him makes you pause. He looks every bit as exhausted as you imagined, but it’s more than that. His clothes are torn and stained with dirt and dried blood, and a faint, musty smell of sweat and grime clings to him. His normally fierce gaze is dulled with fatigue, and the well-kept scruff on his face has grown wilder, more unkempt.

Your nose wrinkles slightly as you take in the full picture. “Logan…” you start, hesitating as he drops his bag on the floor with a loud thud. He catches your expression, and despite everything, he smirks, though it’s softer than usual, his eyes gleaming as they meet yours.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly and rough, but filled with a warmth that makes your heart swell.

“I missed you too,” you reply, stepping forward to close the distance between you. He reaches out, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close despite the state he’s in. The embrace is tight, almost desperate, and you feel the stiffness in his muscles, the way his body seems to sag against yours, as if holding you is the only thing keeping him upright. And as much as you want to melt into him, as much as you want to rest your head on his shoulder and breathe in his scent, the feel of the grit against your skin pulls you back.

“Logan, you need a shower.” Your voice gently chides as you lean back to look up at him, your hands smoothing over his chest before you brush a lock of hair away from his forehead, your fingers grazing the sweat-dampened strands.

He lets out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest as he holds you, the warmth of his breath fanning across your cheek. “I just wanna hold you,” he grumbles, his face nuzzling into your hair.

You tilt your head back a bit, giving him a fond, but pointed look. “Not like this, you don’t,” you tease, pressing a kiss to his cheek before wrinkling your nose again. “Seriously, babe, you stink.”

His mouth quirks into a tired, yet genuine smile, a rare sight that always makes your heart flutter. “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he mutters, his eyes softening as he looks down at you.

“Go on,” you urge, giving him a gentle nudge toward the washroom. 

But Logan doesn’t move right away. Instead, he gives you a look, one that’s almost boyish in its vulnerability. “Can you come with me?” he asks, almost begging. “I’ve missed you… a lot.”

The sincerity in his tone, the way his eyes seem to plead with you, makes it impossible to refuse. You sigh, pretending to be more exasperated than you are, but the truth is, you’ve missed him just as much. “Alright, alright,” you relent, rolling your eyes playfully. “We’ll get cleaned up.”

A hint of relief washes over his features as he takes your hand, his rough fingers intertwining with yours as you lead him toward the bathroom. Once inside, you turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature until the steam begins to rise around you.

You turn to face him, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palms. “Let’s get you out of these clothes,” you say softly, reaching for the hem of his shirt. 

His hands cover yours, guiding them as he helps you pull the fabric over his head, his gaze never leaving your face. You can’t help but notice the remnants of bruises and cuts scattered across his body, and your heart aches to see him like this, knowing the toll the mission must have taken on him.

When he’s finally undressed, you shed your clothes quickly and step into the shower. Logan wraps his arms around your waist as he presses his forehead against yours, eyes closing as he takes in the moment.

The warm water cascades over both of you, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest, each breath syncing with your own. There’s a stillness between you, a moment suspended in time where nothing else exists but the two of you.

“God, I missed this,” he murmurs affectionately, gazing down at you with a quiet longing. 

“Me too,” you echo your voice barely above a whisper as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile intimacy of the moment. You reach for the soap, lathering it between your hands, the bubbles forming quickly as the scent of fresh citrus fills the air.

Logan watches you with an almost reverent expression as you begin to work the soap across his chest, your fingers tracing the hard lines of his muscles. His skin, though scarred and battered, is warm beneath your touch, the tension slowly melting away under the soothing rhythm of your hands.

He lets out a low, contented hum as you wash him, his eyes slipping closed as he leans into your touch. “That feels good,” he breathes, the words rumbling through his chest. 

You smile quietly, taking your time as you work your way across his torso, roaming every inch of him. When you reach his shoulders, you pause, stepping a little closer so you can run your hands up the back of his neck and into his hair, your fingers gently massaging his scalp.

The sound he lets out is almost a groan, and you can feel his body relax even further as your fingers work through the tangles in his hair. You can’t help but lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s a lazy, unhurried gesture, one that speaks of comfort, and Logan responds immediately, turning his head slightly to capture your lips.

The kiss is slow, achingly slow, devoid of the usual urgency or passion, but instead filled with something deeper—love, trust, and a profound sense of belonging. His lips are warm and soft against yours, and you find yourself sighing at the familiar taste of him.

When you finally pull back, your breath mingles with his, and he opens his eyes to meet yours. He doesn’t say anything, but his hands slide from your waist up to your back, pulling you so close into his orbit that there’s no space left between you. He holds you like this, his chin resting on the top of your head as the water continues to pour over both of you. It’s not about desire, but rather a need to feel you close, to reassure himself that you’re here, safe and sound in his arms.

You continue to wash him, your hands moving slowly and gently over his body, lathering his hair with care as the water rinses away the grime of the mission. Every so often, Logan presses a soft kiss to your forehead or the top of your head, small gestures of affection that make your heart ache with how much you love him.

As you wash the soap from his hair, you reach up to run your fingers through it one last time, making sure it’s clean. You notice his eyes are half-closed as his head begins to droop down toward your shoulder.

“You’re going to fall asleep standing up,” you tease gently, running your hands down his chest before stepping back to grab the showerhead, directing the water over his shoulders and back.

“Can’t help it,” he murmurs thickly with drowsiness. “You’ve got magic hands.”

After you’ve both rinsed off, you turn off the shower and reach for a towel, wrapping it around yourself before grabbing one for Logan. He takes it from you with a small, grateful smile, quickly drying off before he wraps the towel around his waist. But before you can do the same, he brings you into his arms again, his damp skin cool against yours as he holds you close.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft as he leads you towards the bed. He pulls back the covers, and the two of you climb in, still damp from the shower. Logan pulls you close, his strong arms encircling you as he pushes his face into the crook of your neck.

The scent of fresh soap and clean skin fills the air, and you can feel the last bits of tension leaving his body as he settles into the bed, his breathing evening out as the warmth of your embrace soothes him.

“You’re warm,” he mumbles.

“So are you,” you respond, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Your fingers trace soothing circles on his back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

Logan hums in satisfaction, his arms tightening around you as he presses closer. 

“You’re my everything,” he whispers.

You turn in his arms so you can face him, your hand resting against his chest. “And you’re mine,” you whisper back, your thumb brushing over his heart in a slow, soothing motion. 

In the quiet of the room, the only sound is the steady rhythm of Logan’s breathing and the faint thump of his heartbeat beneath your hand. You feel completely safe, completely loved, wrapped up in his arms, and you know that he feels the same. 

Drifting off to sleep, the last thing you hear is his voice, low and filled with affection. “Don’t ever leave me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your forehead.

“Never,” you assure. “I’ll always be here.”

Logan lets out a deep, contented sigh, pressing a final kiss to your temple. And as the warmth of his embrace lulls you into sleep, you can’t help but think about how you were always meant to be here, by his side.

----

[sqtorux]

imagine you come home completely exhausted after a long day and immediately collapsing on the couch only for suguru to find you there.

he was about to carry you to bed but just had to stop and admire you, sound asleep looking tired yet still absolutely breathtaking.

he sits there for a moment, listening to your steady breaths and marvel at the sight of you. his hand removes the few strands of hair covering your face and tucks them behind your ear causing you to stir.

he whispers several apologies as he pulls you into his strong arms encasing you as if you weighed nothing.

you mumble some complaints about waking you up but suguru knows you'll be thankful in the morning.

he gently carries you to your bed and sets you down so softly you wouldn't notice the impact even if you weren't half asleep.

just when you thought the heavenly soft pillows were now allowing you to drift away to dreamland in peace, a cold sensation on your face jolts you up.

"shh, i'll be quick i promise" suguru chuckles as your heavy lids close against your will. you could only hum in response while he wipes away the remaining traces of makeup that were still clinging onto your features.

suguru had seen you applying your skincare a million times so he knows your routine like the back of his hand. he follows the steps accurately taking care not to wake you up in the process.

after he was done rubbing the last swab of moisturizer into your skin, he smiles triumphantly at himself already thinking about the praises you'd give him the next morning.

just before applying your lip balm though, he just couldn't help but sneak in a kiss, maybe a few, okay a lot of soft feather like kisses.

suguru finally takes his rightful place next to you and pulls you into his embrace, he melts just a little more when you snuggle into his chest and sigh contently, the both of you meeting in your dreams.

[kittencomicslol]

I love self shipping.. Wao.. so cool..

Creator for the ref is already in the og photo so I left it there ^_^

[thargelalia]

Comrade Red Hood

jason todd x fem!reader

patriarchy sucks, thankfully your doting nerdy boyfriend is there to show you support

-> 3k words

-> fluff, hurt/comfort, tiniest bit suggestive

-> warnings: talks of v!olence and crime (c'mon, guys, it's Gotham); mansplaining (not by Jason); reader is a little mean, but she's only human; Jason is a serial kisser and we love that for him

“Are you upset?” 

“Yes.” 

“…is it something I did?” 

“Not everything’s about you.”

Jason’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he lets out a low whistle at your sharp words. “Damn. I thought I was supposed to be the broody one here.”

“Getting a taste of your own medicine sometimes is good.”

Silence.

“Sure you’re not mad at me?”

“I’m beginning to.” You let out a deep frustrated sigh, massaging your temples in a futile attempt to stop the incessant throbbing headache. “What do you want, Jason?” 

“I was just—is there anything I can do for you?” He asks, shifting weight between his legs. “You seemed a bit off over the phone earlier, so I decided to drop by.”

“I just want to be alone.” You sound less passive aggressive this time as exhaustion seeps into your words. ”My head is killing me right now, so I just had an aspirin. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” Since it’s dark and your eyes are glued to the ceiling, you’re unable to take in the dejected look on his face. 

Seeing you’ve got no objections — he kind of hoped you’d change your mind and ask for cuddles — Jason leaves the room wordlessly. It’s almost like he vanishes into thin air. A well-known skill amongst all bat-family members.

Even so, he’s surprisingly light on his feet for a big guy. But then again, we’re talking about a walking deadly weapon. A vicious vigilante. The prince of Gotham. Red Hood.

Or at least that’s what he usually is when he’s not sulking in the living room for being a victim of his girlfriend’s sour mood. 

Aside from the sound of a car or two passing by down below, and police sirens echoing distantly on occasion, your place is engulfed in a comfortable silence — this a relatively quiet neighborhood. Moonlight filters through your half-open curtains, a soft welcoming breeze swaying them gently to the side. 

At some point, your eyes flutter open. You don’t even remember falling asleep. There’s a dryness to your throat, prompting you to move around and reach for a slim water bottle on the nightstand. Next to it, the digital clock reads 2:17 AM. 

A five hour nap. Nice. 

Fortunately, the pounding inside your head has subsided.

Tsking in disappointment, seeing the bottle is empty, you detangle your legs from the sheets, begrudgingly getting up and dragging yourself to the kitchen. 

The lights in the living room are still on, making your eyes squint when you approach the entrance. You’re confused to discover Jason still lounging on the couch with a book in his hands, legs spread deliciously wide. One of his feet is propped against the edge of the coffee table.

“Thought you were still out on patrol.” 

He looks up, and blinks, not expecting to see you up. “Just got back, actually. About fifteen minutes ago or so, I think.”

You hum in response and take a moment to really observe him. 

His hair is still indeed damp as it falls over his forehead. He’s also shirtless, only dressed in gray sweatpants. Took him quite a long time to feel comfortable enough to show skin like this around you. Likewise, despite the smile that your reassurances bring to his face whenever you thank him for ‘blessing your eyes with such a delectable sight’, sometimes he still gets antsy if they linger too long on his scars. So, you try to respect his limits while also making sure he knows he’s incredible and beautiful. 

There are also beads of sweat accumulated on his bare chest and neck. Despite having just showered, his body is still overheated from Red Hood’s intense activities, you notice. 

No injuries in sight tonight, thank goodness. But if there were, though, he probably wouldn’t be here. He’d still rather agonize in pain alone in his apartment than letting his medical resident girlfriend tend to him. You’re still trying to ingrain into his stubborn mind that his health will never be a disturbance to you. He will never be a disturbance to you.

Hm, though he kinda was a little bit earlier before. However, that wasn’t his fault. Nor yours, for that matter.

As if on cue, his question breaks you out of your reverie.

“Feeling better?” You nod in affirmation and he gives a sweet smile. “Good. You should eat, baby. I got you something on my way back. It’s in the kitchen.”

You mirror his smile and resume your steps to the kitchen where there’s a white medium-sized paper bag sitting on the counter. 

Dismantling crime and wreaking havoc around Gotham, just to later on pick up food to appease his moody girlfriend back home. 

Isn’t that so cute? 

After drinking your fill of cool water, you grab the food bag, a plate – to avoid crumbs dirtying the floor – and return to the living room to eat in Jason’s company. He’s still engrossed in his book. Or rather, yours. Your small library is now his, but so is his yours. It’s an unspoken agreement.

“I didn’t know Mr. Abdul’s place stays open so late.” You say thoughtfully, munching on a falafel. Jason also got you a fattoush salad, hummus, and some pita bread. Yummy. 

You’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, legs on a pillow in his lap, while his forearms rests on top of them. He’s hunched forward in concentration on the pages in front of him.

“It doesn’t.” Without looking, Jason steals one falafel from the bag and pops it into his mouth. “I broke into his kitchen.“

You choke on a piece of pita bread. “What the f-”

“Relax. I left the money on the counter.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me??” He talks about it so casually. Almost like he’s done this before. “Wait. So, the cookies from Elena’s last time…”

“Well, that one’s obvious.” Successfully blocking a pillow chucked at his face, he rushes to defend himself, “BUT I never forget to pay, so technically I’m not stealing! Only billionaires are harmed here, I swear.”

You both know which particular billionaire he has in mind.

“Right. Keep telling yourself that, Robin. Hood.” You scoff, picking up the fattoush salad box, opening its lid and picking through vegetables with a plastic fork. Jason’s mouth opens in surprise. “Pun intended, by the way.” 

“Whatever.” He huffs with an eye roll, trying to conceal his amusement. To make a point, he raises the open book to his face and blocks your view of him, ignoring you completely. 

As you silently chew on radishes and lettuce, you take a minute to inspect what he’s reading. It’s a considerably thick book. Zeroing in the letters of the cover, your eyes widen in shock as you swallow. 

“Jason, is that—you’re reading The Capital?”

“Yeah, why?” He questions back, nonchalantly, lowering the book just past his eyes.  “You think I only read fiction?” 

“I guess… but I only asked because I think it’s an odd choice of reading given your night.” You explain, gathering the empty food containers, placing them inside the paper bag and setting it aside on the coffee table. “Aren’t you supposed to be tired?” 

“Of fighting against oppressive systems? Absolutely.” He quips, a playful smirk on his face. “This guy just gets me, you know?” 

Seeing the unimpressed look on your face, his smile dies down and he places the book down on the armrest. “I got an extra adrenaline rush while chasing Penguin’s goons this time. There were dozens of them ‘cause he was closing an important arms deal at a warehouse tonight.. Remember that time when we were watching a documentary about wolves, and it was showing how packs tend to slaughter entire flocks of sheep when they’re unable to escape from a confined space?”

“Is that your way of telling me you were in a… kill frenzy?” You swallow hard, trying not to sound too alarmed, but the distant look in his eyes accompanied by his eerie tone and word choice is unsettling. Even though you're well aware he doesn’t pose a danger to you.

Jason seldom shares the details about his gruesome Red Hood business with you. One, because he knows you already see too much violent shit while working at the hospital. 

Two, he knows you worry about his safety. 

Three, there’s also the fact that he’d like to keep a sense of normalcy at home. 

Four, and most importantly, he believes it’s best if you don’t access his dark side, but sometimes – like right now – he’s unable to conceal it. At the end of the day, he’s only someone fighting their shadows like any other. 

Although, his are evidently a bit more obscure and jarring. 

There’s a pregnant pause before he finally breaks out of his trance with a shake of his head. Taking in your tense posture and concerned face, he softens his demeanor, reaching for one of your hands. One, two, three kisses delivered to the tip of your fingers and he’s pulling you to sit straddling his legs. Calloused palms start rubbing the top of your thighs in reassurance back and forth. 

“Don’t worry, baby. I didn’t shoot to kill..uh, mostly.” There’s no way of telling if he’s being sincere, and, frankly, you’d rather not think about this. As usual, he’s attuned to your senses, and tries to lighten the conversation up. “Anyways, I was still feeling charged when I got back. That’s why I picked one of your brainy books to help me wind down. Since your Sociology shelf was right in my line of sight, I decided to give it a try… Oh, I just remembered I forgot to bring you my French copy of Madame Bovary again.” 

“Hm, it’s fine. I’ll borrow it next time I’m at your place. But, back to my books. Why do I feel like this isn’t a first time thing? I did find some of my Sociology books misplaced a couple of weeks ago,” you complain. “Glad you’re having fun tackling dialectical materialism as a post-vigilante workout, but please make sure you put my books in order once you’re done.” 

“So bossy.” He playfully tuts, adding a nip to your shoulder. Then you feel his lips trace a slow path up to your neck, leaving a slow deliberate kiss there. “And so pretty, too.”

He smiles mischievously, lips still attached to your skin, as you shudder. 

Devious bastard.

Crossing your arms, you try not to blush and keep your voice steady. “I mean it, Jason.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll mind your precious organization.” He follows his promise with a chaste kiss, this time to your lips. “But seriously, you do look pretty.” 

“What, out of a sudden?” You raise your eyebrows in amusement. 

Jason prides himself in being a skillful liar. It often comes in handy. 

But he most definitely is not the type to give empty compliments. 

Especially not to the most precious person of his life. 

And you’re aware of that. His eyes don’t lie.

There’s that deep candid warmth swirling within those mesmerizing irises that just captures you whole. They remind you of the ocean, colors of a fine line between blue and green, like teal. Sometimes calm and serene, sometimes agitated and raging. 

One thing is sure. You’re the only person who gets to soak into the tranquil waters hidden amidst the windows of his soul. 

Because you’re the only one capable of bringing them out. 

“Nah, I always think that when I see your face.” Comes his reply.

At that, more kisses ensue. Obviously.

First one is yours, molding your lips to his in an instant as you try to return his incessant devotion with eagerness. He wastes no time in reciprocating, mouth slightly parting to welcome your tongue inside. It makes your head fuzzy all over. Every single fucking time. This type of intimacy took almost as long to construct as the display of his body. You’re never taking his trust for granted. Never. Soon enough, Jason discovered himself to be a great fan of kissing. You. He’s done it before with other people, sure, but it didn’t make him feel like this. Yearn like this. As if he depended on it to survive. And he might as well do. Your fingers find their way to his scalp, tangling in silky locks and pulling while trapping his lower lip between your teeth, eliciting a soft groan from him. As a result, he grips your hips harder, drawing you impossibly closer. The heat from his bare muscular chest is scorching, almost too much to bear as it seeps through your shirt – his shirt. 

You two only break apart because he decides to now trail his lips downward, leaving you panting, eyes sealed shut in pleasure, as he works his mouth across every other available patch of your skin. From jaw to neck, and shoulder. And back up.

This time his ministrations are sweeter and more tender, making you melt completely into his embrace. 

Finally sated, after delivering a last kiss behind your ear, he whispers softly and a little breathless, “Wanna share now why you almost bit my head off a few hours ago, hm?” 

Watching your face fall when he pulls back, his heart equally drops, causing him to backtrack, “S’okay, baby. You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry.”

You exhale shakily, glancing down to fiddle with the hems of your – his – shirt. A hand cups your cheek, and tilts your head upwards carefully, thumb brushing the soft skin back and forth. Molten blue-green irises coaxing you to relax like the gentle sway of the sea. Telling he’s trusty and willing to listen.

“No, it’s just… ugh…” He waits patiently as you gather your thoughts. “I had to deal with one of my stupid professors mansplaining to me during my presentation today. A subject that I’ve been studying for years now. I knew what I was talking about and he acted as if I didn’t, saying that I didn’t use the concepts correctly like I was a child. Some of my colleagues told me I shouldn’t take his words personally, but it fucking sucked. Still does. I hate it when people, especially men, undermine my intelligence. I just felt so frustrated, I went to the bathroom and cried when the presentation ended. And to top it off, I got a miserable headache on the way home. So yeah, that’s why I was in such a shitty mood tonight. I’m sorry I took it out on you…” 

While describing what happened and venting about your feelings, you barely registered the way his arms tensed around you or how a muscle in his jaw ticked. There’s really no mistaking the look on his face now. The dark stormy blue that has replaced the soothing sea green. “Jason, no. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“He upset you.” Your boyfriend states in a clipped tone. “He made you cry.” 

“No matter how tempting, you can’t just fuck up every single guy that gets on my nerves.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Jace.” You beg, exasperated. “Please. That’s not what I need right now, okay? He was being an asshole, yes, but the academy, and the whole world, is crowded with them unfortunately. Most of the time, I can handle it just fine. But, today was different. I’ve been preparing for my presentation for days, so he caught me by surprise with his arrogance and my anxiety kinda escalated, I guess. What I mean is I didn’t tell you this because I wanted you to avenge me. I just want to be understood. Can’t you do that for me?” The sight of tears filling your wide eyes dilute his outrage instantly. You’re engulfed in a tight comforting hug.

“Of course, baby. I’ll never feel the same as you ‘cause I’m not a woman, but you must know I’m here for you and I’m sorry you had to deal with this.” He offers, sympathetically, before something darker twists his features again. “I won’t lie to you, though. It’d be easy for me to rip that fucking bastard’s tongue—”

“Jason.”

“—and feed it to his mouth until he chokes—”

“Jason.” 

He puts a finger to your mouth to silence you, just to pull back immediately before it gets bitten off.

“—but I won’t do that.” Not today at least, he keeps this last part to himself. “My point is a brilliant woman like you will always be a threat to insecure fuckers like him. Bet he’s just jealous he’ll never shine as bright as you do.”

You throw your arms around his neck, burying your face in it with a sniffle. “I love you.”

“I love you too. A lot.” Nuzzling into your hair, he inhales the soft scent of jasmine shampoo. “Feeling okay?”

“Yes. Thank you.” You really are. But, then, you sigh wistfully. “I’m thinking if I were an Amazon, it’d probably be easier to deal with this type of situation.”

“How so?” He tilts his head, confused.

“You know… I’d be strong, powerful... intimidating. Stuff like that.” 

“You already wield your intellect like the sharpest blade I’ve ever seen. Your words are eloquent and sharp when you stick up for what you believe. Not to mention the way you carry yourself with confidence even when you’re in a room filled with strangers.” He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, speaking earnestly. “Trust me, sweetheart. You don’t need to be an Amazon when you’re already a goddess.” 

“That’s… wow… I wasn’t expecting that.” The butterflies are throwing a fucking rave in your stomach. You just can’t stop grinning, so you playfully hit his shoulder. “Never knew you could be so sappy.” 

He catches your wrist delicately, not missing the opportunity to turn it and plant his lips on your knuckles.

“That’s all on you. You turned me into this.” He claims, placing your open palm over his heart, and holding it there. It’s beating quite rapidly. Like yours is. “Take responsibility, woman.” 

“Fine,” you concede with a playful eye roll. Guilty as charged, your honor. “But, seriously, thank you. Your words mean a lot.”

“You mean a lot to me. Don’t ever forget that.” One, two, three pecks to his lips. You discover you really love kissing him as well. 

Suddenly, he’s covering his mouth with a yawn. Outside, Gotham’s black heaven is starting to get tinged with pink and yellow, announcing the sun’s impending arrival. Soon the streets around your building will have people going out about their day. Unbeknownst to them, one of the guys responsible for their safety sleeps tucked in your bed right around the corner. 

“We should probably sleep.” Jason begins, effortlessly getting up in a swift motion while still holding onto you. Your legs wrap around his waist as he walks you two to the bedroom. “I already lost way more brain cells than intended. Gotta save some for Mary Wollstonecraft tomorrow.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“And you need to get woke,” he taunts.

“These are my books!” You counter, indignantly. 

“Ours. Don’t be so individualistic, baby. That’s why capitalism—” Not letting him finish, you jump off his arms and go into the bathroom as he trails behind like a lost puppy.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, comrade Red Hood. Now shut your revolutionary mouth, and let’s get ready for bed.”

thanks for reading, and please reblog if you enjoyed it <33

feel free to share your thoughts, i'd love to hear them!

this is where i got the dividers

[rafey-baby]

what would sensitive!reader do without older!rafe protecting her from the invisible monsters in their home?

18+ mdni!

c/w: mostly fluff, her being scared & rafe comforting her while also being a menace, teeny tiny bit of angst regarding their age gap, use of daddy (once)

wc: 1.7k

unfortunately won't be watching a single scary movie this halloween cause she's literally me but happy kinktober & spooky season xx

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

She’s not exactly sure why she agreed to watch the new horror film Rafe’s friends wanted to see at a Halloween themed gathering he’d dragged her into. She wasn’t even the biggest fan of his friends, which is why she didn’t want to go in the first place.

However, when he’d mumbled a honeyed ‘it’s no fun without you ‘n don’t wanna leave my girl alone on Halloween’ into her hair, she’d reluctantly agreed; not one to refuse him of anything when he looked at her with that specific softened blue coloring his eyes.

And there was also the prospect of making him happy that finally made her melt into his wishes. 

And she wanted to like his friends, she really did. But it wasn’t exactly easy when they kept bragging about their accomplishments and how much money they had every opportunity they found in such an arrogant tone, it made her roll her eyes when they weren’t looking.   

Luckily, she could at least converse with their partners who were always fun company to sip wine with and giggle about anything and everything. And along with the warmth of Rafe’s gaze flickering over to her every once in a while, as he talked with his friends and coworkers, she was actually beginning to enjoy herself.  

Up until the point when someone suggested they watch a movie.  

“You sure you wanna watch this? S’okay if you wanna go home, could come up with somethin’ else to keep us entertained…” Rafe had murmured into her ear with his arms around her on the couch the whole group had settled down on.  

He knew how paranoid she could get; how easily she’d turn into a scaredy cat who once couldn’t sleep alone for a month after sitting through an entire scary movie in the cinema.   

And she truly doesn’t know why she didn’t just tell him she wanted to leave when the film started playing on the big screen of Topper’s television. She was going to, but when her eyes flitted over to him bringing a glass of whiskey to his lips in a carefree manner; she didn’t have the heart to ruin his fun because he seemed to be enjoying himself. After all, it wasn’t often he let himself relax due to his hectic work schedule packed with tedious meetings and whatnot.   

And on top of that, she’s already self-conscious over the age-gap between her and Rafe; sometimes gets a headache over the notion of him meeting someone more mature one dreadful day and deciding he doesn’t want to play house with her any longer.  

After all, his friends were all getting engaged left and right, while she still holds the title of being his girlfriend. And even if she isn’t sure she’d be ready for marriage quite yet, she’s still slightly upset that he’s never even so much as mentioned the matter.  

And she's not sure if it's because she's younger than him and he assumes she doesn't want a ring on her finger too soon or if he simply just doesn't want to make things too definitive with her.  

Nonetheless, it's something she's been thoroughly overthinking and mulling over recently, even if she knows it doesn't benefit her in any shape or form. Apparently, her mind just likes to always have some topic to ruminate over and obsessively worry about, or else it'll have too much free time.  

Therefore, she can admit that she didn’t want to appear as a big baby who couldn’t stomach anything even remotely scary (she really couldn’t). And was it such a crime to not want to make a scene in front of all his friends?  

That’s why she ends up meekly nodding her head and assuring him she was fine — which he didn’t entirely believe — but smiled nonetheless at the fact that she was willing to get out of her comfort zone for his sake, before pulling her closer to his side.   

However, when the white letters of the end credits finally rolled after a few gruesome and eerie hours later, she was anything but fine.  

Her weakened frame is trembling and she’s entirely too jumpy even after they’ve said their goodbyes and stepped past the threshold into the safe haven of their home.   

“Told you we should’ve just left,” he tuts when she flinches when the October wind rustles the leafy foliage outside the window.   

“Rafe, what was that?” she squeaks out when she hears another sound coming from outside — presumably their neighbor — however, there’s always the possibility of it being a serial killer simply waiting for the right moment to pounce.   

“What was what?” he huffs out a chuckle in amusement, causing her to pout.   

“This isn’t funny. I’m scared,” she whines, heart beating faster than ever along with her breathing unsteady.  

“I know you are. Shit, forgot why I don’t let you watch scary movies,” he shakes his head, padding over to the kitchen to fill up a glass of water; her feet immediately running after him.   

“Hey, hey, m’right here, yeah?” he laughs tenderly when she practically glues herself to his big and comforting arm with how tightly she’s hugging it against her chest.   

“Promise you’re not gonna leave me alone?” she blinks up at him with her pupils dilated, nervous.  

“It’s past midnight. Of course, m’not leaving, m’exhausted. Let’s get ready for bed, yeah?” he suggests calmly, managing to placate her some with his appeasing presence. Although the spine-chilling scenes still play behind her eyelids with every blink.  

She follows him to the bathroom and he tries not to laugh when she insists on staying there even while he’s peeing.   

“Want me to check under the bed for monsters?” his sickly-sweet tone is a stark contrast to the annoying smirk plastered on his face when they pad over to their bedroom after brushing their teeth.  

“Ray…I’m being serious,” she scowls.  

“So am I?” he feigns confusion with a furrow of his brows.  

Before she has the chance to complain about him being mean, he’s already crouching down on the floor and poking his head under the bed into the darkness he’s braved himself to submerge into. And she’s far too curious not to peer down as well, however, she can’t really see a thing from behind his broad shoulders.   

Suddenly, he lets out a loud gasp — making her jump back and nearly trip on her feet — before his breathy giggle follows soon after.  

“That’s not funny,” she grumbles as exasperation drags her lips downwards.  

“I’m sorry, baby. You jus’ make it so easy,” he approaches her with an apologetic expression that doesn’t come off as all that empathetic when he’s fighting off an amused grin the entire time.   

“C’mere, yeah?” he coaxes before tugging her into his strong arms; not letting go even when she tries to pull away since she’s still mad at him.   

“This one really got to you, huh?” he murmurs into her hair before beginning to soothingly rock back and forth when she finally halts her pursuits of escape.   

A faint hum is the only response she grants him.   

“Think the last time you were this scared was when we went to that haunted house with your friends last year, remember?” his warm chest rumbles in a pacifying manner in tandem with his words.   

“How could I forget,” she huffs out.   

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t wanna watch it? I wouldn’t have cared if we left,” he speaks softly.   

“I don’t know…just didn’t wanna seem like a baby in front of your friends,” she sniffles.   

“Since when do you care what they think? You hate them,” he argues with a lopsided smile when he releases his hold on her in order to unzip his jeans and change into something more comfortable for the night.   

“Hate is a strong word,” she defends herself as she pulls one of Rafe’s old t-shirts over her head and tries to focus on his familiar scent still lingering on the worn-out fabric instead of the imaginary monsters lurking behind the windows.   

“Is it?” he graces her with a lighthearted narrow of his eyes.   

“Fine. I don’t like them but they’re your friends, which means that I want them to like me,” she mumbles out.   

“Don’t really give a shit if they like you or not, which they obviously do. Think a little too much since you can’t help but be the sweetest angel even to the people you hate,” he grumbles out as he walks over to close the bedroom door.   

“And honestly, would much rather just stay with you than those pretentious idiots. Next time you wanna go home, just tell me. Don’t want you lyin’ to me, okay?” he says with something sincere sparkling in the lagoons of his eyes.   

“Okay,” she promises when suddenly, he switches the lights off with a click, causing her muscles to tense.   

“Ray, why would you do that?” she sounds alarmed; inhales and exhales growing labored because the bedroom is now pitch black and there could be anything hiding in the murky corners of the room since she can’t even see herself.   

“Shh, calm down. I’ll protect you, yeah?” he croons, before he’s guiding her under the covers with a big hand on the small of her back; following shortly behind her and tugging her flush against his steady chest.  

“You’re safe with me. Daddy’s not gonna let anything happen to you, alright?” his saccharine murmurs reach her racing mind and offer it momentary rest on the soft petals of his tranquil voice.   

She hums against the skin of his neck as her eyes begin to slowly adjust to the darkness surrounding them; the dingy shadows crawling along the walls appearing less and less threatening by the second when she’s in the warmth of his protective embrace.   

“Want your stuffie?” he asks, knowing her all too well.   

“Mhm,” she nods against him before he’s reaching a hand behind the pillows because somehow her stuffed animal always manages to end up in the most peculiar of places. At this point though, he already knows where to look since he’s usually the one who has to locate it for her. 

Nowadays, she doesn’t need it too often since she has Rafe volunteering to be her own personal teddy bear, but whenever he’s working past midnight, she likes to hold onto something that brings her comfort because she isn’t particularly fond of the idea of sleeping alone.  

He soon offers her the plushy lamb and she gives him a grateful smooch against his cheek along with a muffled ‘I love you’.   

And that night, he lulls her into dreamland with a warm palm resting on her tummy and his mellow breathing placating her distraught mind. 

[comatosebunny09]

He’s seated in his study, mulling over something on his tablet. At first, you don’t want to bother him. But, ah, what the hell. He can be upset with you later.

You push the door to his office the rest of the way open, wincing at the croaking sound it makes in the stillness of his mansion. He doesn’t look up from the screen of his tab, acknowledging you with a calm, “Hello, sweetie.”

You don’t bother with formalities. Pull your blanket tighter around your shoulders, the marble floor cold beneath your bare feet as you pad to his desk. Wordlessly, you crawl onto his lap, your legs dangling on either side of his thighs.

The initial shock he feels melts away when you encircle him with your arms. And you release a content sigh, your cheek smushed up against his chest, eyes slipping shut, and a smile on your face.

He embraces you, fastening you to him. Rests his chin on the crown of your head as he strokes reassurance into your back.

“Something the matter?” he murmurs into your hair. You hold him tighter, your smile growing wider.

“No. Just missed you is all.”

He chuckles, the sound of it pleasantly vibrating your body. He doesn’t pursue it, taking up his tablet again, content with letting you cling to him like a baby koala as sleep claims you.